


Should've, Could've, Would've

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Nobody asked for it so here you go!, Okay but legit does anybody not want the Avengers fighting over them?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 42,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers have withstood multiple alien invasions, hostile robotics experiments, the weight of civilian casualties, clashes of personality, and even Tony when he's drunk. But now, they're being torn apart. And all it took was a girl who couldn't make up her mind about who she liked best.</p><p>Spoiler alert: that's you.</p><p>[ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moths, Meet Flame

"It's just paperwork," you said with a shrug. "You could send anybody to help them out, you know. Not that I'm complaining, but I don't really get why me."

"It's not just paperwork. You're a personal assistant. I'm sending _you_ because you're overqualified," Nick Fury told you. You weren't really sure what he meant by that, but you were prepared to accept whatever came out of this guy's mouth. Even with only one eye, he'd seen an awful lot. "Besides," he continued, "I think they need you. I think you'll be good for them."

Hah. Depends how you define "good."

You figured S.H.I.E.L.D. did all the Avengers' paperwork for them, but hey! Who were you to question the Bureaucrats That Be? And even if there was no work to do once you got to the Tower, you'd still have to be off your rocker, turning down a chance to hang out with Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and getting paid for it, to boot. You were fully prepared to do whatever was asked of you, be that the promised paperwork or getting coffee or fighting crime - holy shit, can you imagine how cool that would be?

After reading every S.H.I.E.L.D. file you could get your hands on, you knew a pretty good deal about all of the Avengers. You were feeling about as prepared as you could possibly be for your first day on the job. You spent the whole ride to the Tower psyching yourself up.  _They're just people_ , you reminded yourself.  _Highly trained, super-enhanced, brilliant, somewhat godlike, and all inexplicably attractive people._

And now, here you are. The doors slide open and you step into an elevator and this is it. Thing is, you're feeling a bit better once you're inside the elevator. Everything here is chrome and heads-up displays and automation, and it's actually kind of reassuring. It's a lot like what S.H.I.E.L.D. has, and besides, all of this tech is bound to make your job easier, leaving you more time to get to know all those  _just people_ you've been hearing about on the news for the past few years.

"You've reached your destination, miss," says a pleasant British voice. "Floor forty-seven. I believe your new employers are here to welcome you." You take one more deep breath, adjust the hem of your shirt, and put on a smile. It's time to meet the team.

 

 

"Look, we don't need an assistant," Tony said, pacing around the kitchen. "We've got JARVIS. Anything an assistant can do, he can do better."

"I don't see what's so bad about it," Steve said. "We could use a good old-fashioned helping hand around here once in a while."

"Coming from the guy who's the embodiment of good old-fashioned," Natasha said drily. 

"You know what, Romanoff?" Steve shot back. Nat grinned.

"Well I agree with the Capsicle," Clint said.

"As do I." Thor.

"Sorry, Stark, but you're outnumbered." Natasha.

"Well, like it or not, S.H.I.E.L.D. is sending over one of their best and brightest to assist us, and she'll probably be here soon," Bruce pointed out.

"Wait, she?" Tony asked, interest suddenly piqued. Everybody rolled their eyes.

"Control your dick, Stark," Clint said.

"What? I like smart girls. No shame in that."

And so it came to pass that the Avengers, now united in their acceptance of an assistant, were waiting outside the elevator when it reached the forty-seventh floor. They're there when the elevator dings pleasantly and JARVIS introduces their new assistant as "Miss [Y/N]."

 

 

You see six very familiar faces as the chrome doors slide back to reveal a spacious room that seems like it could serve just about any purpose you need it for. They're all smiling, welcoming - all just as attractive as they are on TV and in case files. Seriously, it's like a movie or something. Did they just go around picking out the most attractive superheroes, just because they could?

You try to shut yourself up, mentally speaking, before anything else happens. There'll be time for awkwardly seducing your employers later - wait, what?  _Shut up, brain,_ you think, hoping it'll help. Focus on the job at hand. Think later.

JARVIS introduces you. You tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, ignoring the other twelve stray pieces of hair that are floating around in the general area of your face, and exit the elevator. In front of you, the Avengers' expressions are changing to... something other than smiling, but you try not to take notice or dwell on it. Nothing is gonna ruin your first day at this job.

You hope.

 

 

The Avengers are all watching you. It feels almost like a predator/prey situation, except that's way creepier than the reality and anyway it's impossible to tell who's the prey. Maybe it's knowing that you're here to stay, for pay or for pleasure. Maybe it's just the fact that you're pretty, but it's got to be more than that. There's a laptop tucked under your arm and the kind of smile on your lips that suggests you know a secret. You walk like some people run or skip, pushing yourself off the balls of your feet, but somehow you make it look leisurely. You've got your hair pulled back like you're trying your best to mean business, but so much has come out of your ponytail that you can't  _really_ mean business.

"Morning, everybody," you say brightly. "I heard there would be paperwork."

The Avengers exchange a look among themselves.

You aren't going to be nearly as good for them as Nick Fury said. They can already tell. You're gonna be about as good for the Avengers as a flame is for moths.

And they can't wait.

 


	2. Consensus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are quickly getting out of hand vis-a-vis the Avengers and their feelings, but the real question is whether you'll be able to focus with all that tech luring you away from your work...

The Avengers all politely introduce themselves to you. Granted, "I'm Tony Stark, but you probably already knew that" isn't considered polite in most circles, but at least he's trying. You exchange a round of handshakes with them (and a kiss on the back of the hand from Thor), feeling yourself get less nervous by the second. Badass crime-fighting team though they may be, they all seem sort of... awkward. You suppose you can see why: they probably don't get much normal interaction outside of each other, what with being famous and far more capable than the average human being.

_They're just people_ , you tell yourself, only this time you actually believe it.

"So, where will I be working?" you ask brightly. "Has my cubicle already been personalized with a 'hang in there' kitten poster?" You wouldn't joke around like this normally, but something about the fact that the Avengers are not your average employers has you loosening up a bit.

"You'll pretty much have free run of the Tower," Tony says. "Anywhere we need you." He grins and opens his mouth to say something else, but the man you know as Captain America cuts him off.

"I'd be happy to give you a tour, ma'am," he tells you. "I'm afraid I can't explain how everything works in this tower, but I know where all of it is."

You can't help but laugh. "Please, lead the way, Captain."

"Steve is just fine, ma'am."

"Then Steve it is. And you don't have to ma'am me, I promise. I like [Y/N] better."

Steve smiles and nods. "[Y/N]," he repeats.

You follow him through a doorway on the other side of the room.

 

 

When he's certain you're not looking, Steve glances back over his shoulder. He's not normally a smug sort of guy, but this situation is different in every conceivable way, so he grins the smuggest grin of his life in the direction of the other Avengers. But then you and he are out of sight and presumably out of earshot, so the rest of the room bursts into a flurry of overlapping speech.

Bruce is the first to speak up. "We're all thinking the same thing, right?"

"Indeed," Thor agrees.

"Yep," Clint says. "You do realize we're way ahead of ourselves, though."

"Am I ever  _not_ way ahead of myself?" Tony asks, though it's rhetorical. 

"You boys never slow down, do you? Give the poor girl a few days to adjust, at least. After that, though..." Natasha flashes an almost wicked smile. "Well, no promises."

"You too, Nat?" Tony asks. "I thought love was for children."

"It is," she replies coolly. "Coincidentally, this isn't love. Love takes time, from what I've heard."

"I've got time," Tony announces.

"We all do," Bruce says, quietly. They lapse into silence.

 

 

Seeing all the incredible tech throughout the Tower temporarily makes you revert to acting like a wide-eyed little kid. "This is incredible!" you squeal, fiddling around with a massive interactive hologram of a molecule you've never seen before. Yeah, S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of this technology, but knowing that now you're technically authorized to play with every last byte of it is more than one dream come true.

Captain America - or rather, Steve - seems amused by your childlike joy. "It is pretty neat, isn't it?" he asks. "Maybe you'll have to teach me how it all works."

You nod enthusiastically. "I'd be delighted! That is, when I'm not doing... whatever it is you six are going to need me to do around here."

"To be honest, I don't even know yet," Steve says. "Fury didn't tell us we were getting an assistant until this morning. But I'm sure we'll need you for all sorts of things," he amends quickly, not wanting to risk offending you. But you're utterly unoffended.

"I'd actually prefer it if I wasn't needed," you say breezily. "You wanna know a secret? I hate paperwork. I don't have nearly enough patience for it."

Steve chuckles. "Sounds like you're perfect for the job. Come on, there's one more spot you've got to see."

You follow him into the elevator. There are so many people on this floor. Every single one of them is in motion, all of them talking with their hands as much as their voices and striding purposefully from computer to cabinet to coworker and back. It's reminiscent of a perfectly choreographed dance, the way all of their motions seem to sync up into one vision of The Workplace, the way none of them bump into each other, ever. Their voices are the music to the dance.

The doors of the elevator shut with a soft hiss, and the dance and its music are gone. You are the only two people in the elevator.

"Am I to assume you're going all the way up?" JARVIS asks pleasantly. 

"You read my mind," Steve says.

The wind is high on the roof of the Tower, whistling past you and Steve like a song with no tune. You take one look around at the flat space before sprinting to the edge. You want to see the whole city from here. Steve follows close behind you.

You grab the railing and lean over, looking down at the street so far below. Over a hundred floors. The endless stream of New Yorkers on the sidewalk doesn't look like individual people from up here - more like a roiling mass of different-colored hair with the occasional hat thrown in for good measure. The wind and the height are enough to make you think that if you jumped, you'd be able to fly. It's enough to make you dizzy. You've never been scared of heights, per se, but you're also not their biggest fan. Funny, you seem to forget that momentarily whenever you're in a high place.

_Just one more look at the city_ , you think,  _and then I'll go back inside and get to work._ You lean over the railing, trying to see as far as possible in all directions. The song with no tune changes the way it's blowing and suddenly it's gusting at your back and you feel yourself tilting, tilting, and you just  _know_ you're going over and you finally remember why you're not the biggest fan of heights and-

You feel arms around your waist, pulling you back to steady ground. You sigh with relief, turning around to face Steve as he lets go of you. As if it's been cued to do so, the wind pauses and the air is still.

"Couldn't have our assistant falling to her death on her first day," Steve says.

"You usually save that for later?" you quip, attempting to hide how shaken you are.

"Second week, at least," he replies. "Come on, let's go back downstairs. I think our tour ends here."

"We're back," Steve announces to the Avengers, who all appear to be very busy at the moment.

"So, can I just set up anywhere?" you ask. "I mean, considering I'll be all over the place anyway."

Tony pulls something from his pocket and tosses it to you. It appears to be a ring, sort of, except the whole thing is screen instead of ring. The inside of the band is lined with circuits and microchips which are almost too small to tell one from the other. 

"Go wild," he says. "We'll buzz you if we need you for something urgent."

You nod. "Thanks so much," you say, and return to the elevator yet again. You're headed down to the floor with the giant holographic models of molecules. Sure, you're going to try to get some of the boring stuff out of the way, but might as well be prepared for your inevitable failure to focus, right?

 

 

When you're finally gone, the Avengers drop the careful pretense of working. "Look, we're probably overreacting," Clint says. "Let's just give it a few days, alright?"

"Overreacting to... what, exactly?" Steve asks.

"The Captain was not present for our conversation," Thor reminds everybody. 

"Alright, but my question is, why is this happening in the first place? We've never all agreed on something like that before," Natasha points out. "Do you think we ought to look into it before we let her have the run of the Tower?"

"Fury sent her over," Bruce says. "He's got some weird ideas, yeah, but that would be bad even for him."

"I say we just wait and see if all this initial... stuff... blows over," Clint says. "If it's still like... this... later, then it's more up to her than it is to us anyway."

"I'm not quite sure what you're talking about," Steve says, looking from face to face to face as his friends discuss and debate about... you, presumably, though what the specific topic of conversation is, Steve couldn't say to save his life.

"Well, at least Steve didn't catch it," Tony says with a grin. "One less thing to worry about, am I right?"

"I'm just going to assume you've all gone insane and change the topic," Steve replies. "[Y/N] is awfully pretty, huh?"

It's entirely possible that the whole block can hear the hurricane of curses coming from the forty-seventh floor of the Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the ride so far. Comments and criticisms are a big deal to me, so don't be afraid to speak up!


	3. Just the Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we all marvel at how great this restaurant is at puns. Also, something tells me Tony's kitchen will be getting one more cook very soon...

You lasted about an hour. You tried, you really did. But your attention is not easily held, least of all by report after report on possible issues that turned out to be nothing at all. So now you're playing with all of the Stark technology that the Tower has to offer. It started with the gigantic molecular holograms, obviously, but now you've moved on to swapping parts from three defunct robots in hopes of getting one working again. Some assistant you're turning out to be - you've spent eighty percent of your work day screwing around.

The ring on your thumb starts vibrating insistently. You glance down at it and see a tiny message scrolling across the band of the ring. Out of habit, you do the two-finger zoom-in that you're used to on touchscreen devices, and to your surprise, the message is projected down the length of your arm.

"Could you grab me a coffee? Black, excessive amounts of sugar. I'm in the lab. -Bruce"

You smile. Your first official mission as an assistant.

 _Wow, that was the dorkiest thing I've thought in awhile_ , you think, but still! You're needed. By an Avenger.

...For coffee. Hey, we've all got to start somewhere, right?

 

 

Bruce smiles when he hears the door open. He can't help it - he smells coffee.

"Thanks," he says. "You can just put it anywhere. I'm almost done with this."

"Sorry it took so long," you say. "I was originally just gonna make coffee, but Tony Stark's coffeemaker is smarter than my laptop, so I eventually just gave up and went to that little hipster place down the street."

Bruce laughs quietly. "I still haven't figured out the coffeemaker," he says.

You turn to leave, but then turn back. "Is it... okay if I hang out for awhile? I'd love to see what you're working on." You sound a little shy.

"Sure," he says. "I mean, it's not very interesting, but go ahead."

He sees you out of the corner of his eye, perching yourself on the edge of a lab table, legs crossed, watching intently. He's trying to focus on the DNA sample, or at the very least, look like he's focusing on the DNA sample.

"So what exactly are you working on?" you ask.

"It's a DNA sample," he says. "You know how adenine only bonds with thymine, and cytosine with guanine?"

"Throwback to tenth-grade biology class," you joke. "But yes. I did know that."

"Well, I'm trying to make them bond with the others. Specifically adenine and cytosine right now. It's not going very well." He rubs the back of his neck. He's not too keen on admitting failure right now, for some unknown reason. No, it's a known reason: he doesn't want you to think less of him. Which is strange, because at this point he's accepted the idea of being thought less of. Sure, he doesn't enjoy it very much, but he doesn't often care enough to actively avoid it.

Strange.

To Bruce's immense relief, though, you don't comment on his lack of success. Instead, you push yourself off of your table and come stand next to him. "Why are you trying to fundamentally change the rules of DNA?" you ask.

"I'm not sure yet," he says. Because, to be honest, he isn't. One of the perks of this job, and this lab, and this life, is that he can come up with a weird idea and decide to test it with absolutely no consequences. No lost funding, no supervisors breathing down his neck. And who knows? Maybe he'll discover something great. He doesn't say any of this out loud, unsure that you'll understand.

You laugh. "You're a true scientist, Dr. Banner," you say, and it's the perfect thing you could have said just then. 

You move closer to him, and he can feel himself getting nervous and his heart rate is picking up. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You look like you're about to say something else-

 

 

You jump. Your thumb is buzzing.  _That's gonna take awhile to get used to,_ you think. But you display the message, lighting up your whole arm.

"just ordered takeout from seoul food. be a doll and pick it up for us? ;)" There's no signature on this message, but judging by the phrasing, you're guessing it has to be Tony. Or maybe Clint, but that seems just a little less likely.

"Sounds like it's Korean for dinner tonight," you say, stalling, not really wanting to leave the lab when this is so interesting, but you've got a job to do. Your second official mission as an assistant awaits you.

"Yum," Bruce says, turning back to his DNA. It doesn't look like he's gonna communicate with you any further, so you say a quick goodbye and leave the lab.

The three-block walk to the restaurant is pleasant. Summer finally gave up after holding its castle for almost a month into autumn, but now there's a briskness in the air and a crackle to the pavement. All of the humidity has finally dissipated as well, so it doesn't feel like walking into a wet blanket every time you take a step. You're extremely thankful for that - you get awfully cranky when it's really hot out. Sure, summer activities are fun, but sweating through your shirt whenever you go outside? Less fun.

Only when you're approaching the counter at Seoul Food do you realize that you're actually unsure who placed the takeout order, not that it should matter so much, except that when you were 16 the owners of the local deli almost called the cops on you when you tried to pick up a party platter order for your cousin and used your name instead of his. It was awkward at the very least. They didn't end up calling the police, but still, you always worry a little whenever you pick up takeout now. You decide to just go with Tony Stark's name, because it has that extra connotation of "give me this takeout and I will give you a massive tip."

"Hi," you say to the woman behind the counter. "I'm here to pick up an order for Tony Stark."

The woman, who must be in her fifties, makes a high-pitched squeaking sound and runs to the back of the restaurant. You hear excited chatter in Korean. After a few moments, she returns with multiple other people in tow. Two are wearing hats and aprons, and the third is dressed in all black with an apron of his own. The original woman's name tag says Hana. The four of them are all watching you intently, murmuring in Korean. You're entirely unsure how to react to this situation. You shift from foot to foot. You wish you had a longer attention span, but this was way past awkward about a minute ago and at this point you're bored and fed up. You just want to get the Avengers' dinner and go do something else. The only good thing about waiting around here, though, is how delicious everything smells. 

Finally, Hana speaks up.

"Are you his girlfriend?" she asks you. All four of them lean in incrementally, as though they have to be very close in order to hear the answer.

You immediately feel your face heat up. "No, no!" you assure them. "Just the assistant."

They all settle back again. The women with the hats and aprons return to the kitchen.

"Assistant," repeats the boy in all black - he must be a waiter. "Good! Because I'm going to marry him."

Hana rolls her eyes. " _You_ are going to get this nice girl her takeout order," she replies.

 

 

The Avengers are scattered throughout the kitchen, like somebody tossed them all in there without really looking to see where they ended up. Steve and Bruce are at the table, Thor's seated at the island, Nat's leaning against the wall, Tony's on the counter, and Clint somehow managed to get on top of the pantry.

"I ought to get a new coffeemaker," Tony muses.

"I can see why. This one still isn't capable of doing differential calculus while it brews your coffee," Nat says dryly.

"You could at least teach some of us to use it," Steve says. "Or, you know, anything in this kitchen."

"Can't reveal all my secrets," Tony says with a grin.

"But you can't even cook!" Clint protests, jumping off the pantry and landing with a shockingly quiet thump.

"And that's why you order takeout." The six heroes turn towards the voice in the doorway to see you holding a huge paper bag, slightly grease-stained and smelling absolutely delicious.

Thor gives you a round of applause. "Excellent!" he bellows. "I am famished. What did you order, Stark?"

"All of it," he says with another self-important smile. If he said he didn't enjoy reminding himself that money is a great thing to have, he'd be lying. But he'd also be lying if he said he wasn't doing this to impress the pretty new assistant.

"So, [Y/N]," Natasha says, pushing herself away from the wall and towards you (and the food). "You must be starved too - though probably not as much as Thor."

Thor nods enthusiastically.

"Care to stick around for dinner? Unless you've got more paperwork do," she adds, a little bit of sly creeping into her tone.

"Oh! Wow. Yeah, if nobody minds, I'd love to."

"Nobody minds," Natasha assures you. As you carry the gigantic bag of takeout to the counter, Nat takes one step back to look at the boys. It's written across every face in the room: they're cursing themselves for not thinking of that first. Natasha smiles, just a little, and starts grabbing plates.

 


	4. Contractually Obligated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a happy turn of events, because writing the word "paperwork" again and again was getting awfully annoying. Still, there are bright times ahead. And dark times. Definitely more of one than the other. You guess which is which...

You sit down at the table, feeling a little bit out of place but trying not to worry too much about it. After all, there's Korean food in it for you if you stay, plus you get to know _the freaking Avengers_  better. There are two empty seats left, one right next to the other. You select the one next to Thor, who has already started eating - guess he really was hungry. You take a forkful of your meal before seeing movement out of the corner of your eye. Tony has moved over a seat, and now he's taken up residence in the previously-empty chair next to you.

"Hi there," you say. "Was there something wrong with the previous chair?"

He shrugs. "I wasn't a fan of its location. This one's got a much better view." Tony grins at you.

You roll your eyes. "Do you do this to every girl who gets within ten feet of you?"

He doesn't get a chance to answer - Nat pipes up from across the table instead. "Yep," she says, "and he'll keep doing it unless you beat him up a few times. Trust me, I speak from experience."

"Yikes. I've never really been a beating-people-up sort of person," you say. "Oh, but that reminds me! Did you know that one of the waiters from Seoul Food is your fiancé, Tony? Because I sure didn't."

He gives you an are-you-nuts look, and you grin. "Yeah, I forget his name, but he declared his intent to marry you after they all figured out that I'm not your girlfriend."

"I dunno," Tony says, "we could make that happen."

"Me dating you or you marrying the dude from Seoul Food?" you shoot back. Tony takes a big bite of his food. 

With a full mouth, he says, "Both. Or whichever comes first."

You almost choke laughing on a sip of your drink, trying not to snort it out of your nose and/or die. Luckily, you succeed on both counts. _That would have been an awfully embarrassing obituary,_ you think.  _[Y/N], daughter, friend, died snorting her drink out of her nose because Tony Stark made a crappy joke._

When you're finally capable of opening your watering eyes after that near-death experience, you realize that everybody is looking at you. Sure, you've never minded the occasional spotlight, but this is... intense. "Don't worry," you say, attempting to make this less weird. "Not dead yet."

 

 

The Avengers make conversation, with you and with each other. It was a relatively uneventful day for them, so there's less about mortal danger (which they seem to be in an awful lot) and more about "Clint, you seriously need to stop bringing snacks into the vents with you - it's attracting ants, and besides, it makes the whole place smell like Fritos" and "I hear they're coming out with comic books about us; that's gonna be so weird" and "Can I borrow the third book in the Game of Thrones series from you, Bruce? I just finished  _Clash of Kings_."

The whole thing feels just a tad bit forced to the six of them, but perhaps that's only because they've known each other so long and so well that it's very easy to tell when one (or all) of their teammates has something on their mind. Occasionally - or rather, often - someone will glance at you to see if you're picking up on how this feels like an awkward Thanksgiving dinner with your drunk aunt, but you seem perfectly engaged and happy with the direction the evening has taken. They don't expect you to pick up on the subtleties of their communication. After all, you've only really been here for a day.

They're very bad at reminding themselves of that.

"[Y/N]," says Thor, who finally seems to be slowing down, food-wise. "Did you enjoy your first day of service?"

"Yeah!" you say, excitement shot through your voice like a vein. The Avengers turn towards you in time to see your face light up, eyes wide, smiling in a way that's got to hurt your cheeks after a few minutes but it's so damn cute that, who knows, it's probably worth it.

_She's only been here for a day, she's only been here for a day._

 

 

You can't help yourself: you start gushing about the day. After all, it was pretty incredible. "This is my favorite place I've ever worked already," you start, "and that's counting the bakery. Though that does come a close second. I mean, free cake! Every day! But still, this is so insanely cool, and all the tech you've got, it's even cooler than S.H.I.E.L.D. has if I'm being totally honest. Don't tell Fury I said that, though. That molecular diagramming software you've got is out-of-this-world detailed, and you've got every conceivable moving part made of metal invented in the last century."

"And some that haven't officially been invented yet," Tony boasts, and you grin.

"I could tell. I couldn't quite figure out what all of them did, but I'm sure there's time to learn that, and I've almost gotten two of those robots back in working condition now, so all I-" And that's where you stop abruptly, physically covering your mouth.

_I just told the Avengers, my bosses, who are paying me to be here and providing me with a room and food, that I did everything but my job today. Way to go, [Y/N]._

You drop your head. "I'm sorry," you mumble. "I got carried away. I promise I did some paperwork. I spent an hour on it, really, I did. I'm so sorry. I tried. I'll do better." You pause. You're so mad at yourself. This is already the best job you've ever had in your life. You had it for one single day and you blew it. You look up at the Avengers with just your eyes. You can't pick your head up right now.

In a little voice, you ask, "You're going to fire me now... aren't you?"

There's a moment of pure, dreadful silence. The air conditioner stopped humming a few minutes ago, and the soundproofing is too good to hear any of the noise from outside, or even from the floors above and below this kitchen. It's so perfectly quiet that the silence itself feels like a noise.

And then Tony Stark bursts out laughing. It's not manic, per se, but it is a little crazy. You suppose that's one of the hazards of being a genius. And then Bruce starts laughing and covers his mouth to hide his smile, and Thor guffaws, and Steve breaks out into a grin, and Clint snorts, and Natasha smiles and shakes her head like she can't believe this is happening. Scratch the questioning at the restaurant earlier,  _this_ is the most awkward you've felt in a very long time.

 

 

You thought they were going to fire you? Tony can't quite believe it, so being Tony and finding everything funny, his first instinct is to start cracking up. Unlike usual though, everybody else seems equally amused by this situation. You thought they were going to fire you.

"Listen, [Y/N], working here, you're more likely to get accidentally set on fire than you are to get fired," Clint says.

"That wasn't that funny," Steve points out.

"Shut up, I'm hilarious."

You lift your head now, and look around, very obviously confused. Each Avenger makes their best attempt at a reassuring smile, some (Thor) doing better than others (Clint).

"We're not firing you," Tony explains. "You'd have to do a lot more than ignore your job description to get kicked out around here. I'm gonna be honest, I didn't even want an assistant. We don't need an assistant. All that paperwork crap? None of it's necessary. I think they send it just to keep us busy - I've never done any of it, and I'm still here. I have no clue why Fury sent you. He's probably got something up his sleeve, the bastard."

"Easy on the potty mouth - you don't want to offend Steve," Nat says with half of a smile.

Steve gives her a disapproving glare, and she gains the other half of that smile.

" _But_ ," Tony continues, emphatically, "I like you. I think you should stay. Nah, wrong wording. You're totally staying."

"You can tell after just one day?" you ask.

"Believe me," he says. "I can."

There are small nods from the other five, and murmured "uh-huh"s and one "most definitely." Because they can tell they like you after just one day. For once in his life, Tony has perfectly voiced the opinions of the whole group. The Avengers want you around. Each for their own reasons, of course, but when you get right down to it, they're all the same reason. They like you. After just one day.

 

 

Your smile is just a little crooked. You don't quite want to believe this just yet. The six coolest people you have ever seen on TV (and met in real life - you're still getting used to how insane that is) are actively trying to get you to stick around. Because they like you.

"So... what do you want me to do, then?" you ask, a little hesitant. "I mean, I should still be doing something, right? So long as you're paying me to be here."

"I think Stark's got a little money to spare," Nat jokes.

"True," Thor says, "but she is right. It would be unfair of her to demand payment for doing nothing. I applaud your honesty, Lady [Y/N]."

You feel your face flush somewhat. "Exactly," you say. "If I'm not going to be an assistant, what would you like me to be?"

"You could be our friend," Bruce suggests. "I mean, I'm not saying I won't still ask for coffee, but you know. Generally."

You look to the other Avengers for approval. They nod. "We could always use a friend," Clint says.

"Assistant, not so much," Natasha puts in.

"So I'm not getting fired," you clarify.

Tony has another fit of not-very-well-controlled laughter. "No, you're not getting fired. I'd say you're getting a promotion, but being friends with us? Ehhhh..."

You're overjoyed.  _Way to go, [Y/N],_ you think, and this time it's not even a tiny bit sarcastic. You're so pleased about this, in fact, that you lean over to the chair next to you and give Tony Stark a hug, because you can, because that is the best way of indicating how happy you are, because you are officially licensed to be a friend now and what can you say? You hug your friends. Like a lot.

They're gonna have to get used to that.

 

 

Tony thinks he can definitely get used to this. He's being hugged from the side, so he's not in an ideal position to hug you back, but he still manages an arm around you and a trademark cocky grin at his friends.  _Yeah, that's right. The cute new girl is hugging me. Have fun with your dinners, guys._

Finally, you return to your original sitting position and immediately avert your eyes, looking embarrassed.  _And that's cute too._

"Oooh. Oh, yeah. Yikes. Sorry about that. I got a tad overexcited. Plus I'm kind of a hugger when somebody's my friend, and since I'm technically getting paid to be your friends I sorta just... went for it."

"Disclaimers accepted," Tony replies. "I for one am a big fan of hugs."

"Awesome!" you say, perking up immediately. "Well, then, does anyone else want a hug? I'm not off the clock yet."

There's a round of laughter, but each of the remaining five actually does request a hug. (Tony requests another, but you insist you've fulfilled your quota for the day.) The Avengers all enjoy the hugs, some far more than they'd like to admit. It's true that normal human contact is few and far between on a team of superheroes, and physical contact even less so. Plus, you're a fantastic hugger. 

Between the food and the laughter and the hugs, there are some major endorphins being released at this table. The team doesn't really want to leave yet, even after the plates have been stacked and turned over to the expert cleaning skills of Tony's unnaturally smart dishwasher. Clint makes his way to the top of the pantry again (though nobody sees him do it, so it's still impossible to say how he gets that high up that quickly). As for the rest of the gang, they all find things besides chairs to sit on, because it's more fun sitting on things that aren't intended for that purpose. You lean against the massive fridge.

 

 

There's another hour, maybe two, of nothing but talking. What to expect when you're friends with the Avengers - a watered-down version, because it wouldn't be nice to scare off a friend on her first day, and they especially don't want to scare you off, but still. It's enough to freak you out a little bit, but also intrigue you. This is seeming like the beginning of a very exciting point in your life, and you're happy to get on with it.

Eventually, the late night starts catching up to you. You yawn more and feel your eyes closing even during the more hilarious stories. At half past, you give up. "I think I'm gonna head off to bed. This has been quite the first day of work. Thanks for everything."

"You can find your room alright?" Bruce asks.

"Yeah," you say. "Steve did a very thorough job with the tour. Night, all!"

You make your way through the maze of floors and halls and softly glowing blue and yellow lights that is the Tower after dark. You do find your room on your own, though it takes a bit longer than anticipated, and find that your few possessions are already neatly arranged within the huge bedroom. Perks of literally living at work. Though you briefly wonder who was responsible for putting away all of your stuff, you're too exhausted to puzzle it out properly. You collapse into a bed that is far too big for just one person and drift off to sleep.

 

 

"A 'very thorough' job with the tour, huh?" Nat says, raising one eyebrow.

Steve just shakes his head at her, feigning disappointment to hide embarrassment. Of course, everybody sees right through him, but they all seem to realize that it's smarter not to push it right now.

"Hey," Steve says, sounding worried. "We're not all going to fight over her or something, right?"

Nobody says anything. It is the second silence of the night, and the loudest they have ever heard. This one lasts and lasts and lasts. The green numbers on the digital face on the fridge change. A light goes off in an apartment building somewhere.

Thor clears his throat and it's finally safe to change the topic.

"You don't think we scared her with the superhero stories, do you?" Bruce asks, not to anybody in particular.

"No," Thor replies. "She does not appear the type to be afraid of our stories."

"Dunno if that makes her brave or stupid," Steve muses.

"Brave," Clint says decisively. "At least until she's lived through it. Brave for now."

"We're all being really unreasonable, aren't we?" Bruce asks, again to the room.

Everybody nods except Tony. "I don't see why," he says. "She's great. Smart. Doesn't take herself too seriously.  _And_ she's fixing DUM-E's cousin. What more could you want? Hey, Romeo and Juliet fell in love in a day."

"And then died," Nat points out.

"Along with four other people," Bruce adds helpfully. 

Tony shrugs. "Yeah, but given our track record? That's not bad."

"I do not like the thought of putting [Y/N] in danger without due cause," Thor rumbles, and murmurs of agreement go up amongst the team.

"True," Clint says, "but it's not like we're bringing bad guys home for dinner and dancing. She'll be fine. It'll be a long time before anything really dangerous gets near her."

_...Right?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so supportive! I read every comment, so please, keep them coming - your feedback is what's keeping me motivated on this series.
> 
> As a side note to that, I am planning on introducing Loki soon, so don't worry that you haven't seen him just yet. But besides Loki's introduction, please let me know if there's anything specific you'd like to see in the upcoming chapters - I'll credit my favorite ideas in their respective chapters. Thanks!


	5. Movie Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's what you get for singing along to Disney soundtracks. And coming up next, the moment you've all been waiting for. Thor won't be the only Asgardian on the block for long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much for all your kind words! Your comments and kudos really are keeping me motivated, especially with this chapter-per-day pace, so keep 'em coming!
> 
> Second, the notes are at the beginning today to serve as a warning: this chapter involves mostly references to Disney's "The Lion King." This is a movie close to my heart, and I couldn't resist putting it into the story when it fit so well here, but I get that not everybody has seen it or knows about it. As such, I've included a couple of links down below.
> 
> HERE is the link to "I Just Can't Wait To Be King" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CISzjeS3J8  
> HERE is the link to "Can You Feel The Love Tonight" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25QyCxVkXwQ  
> HERE is the Wikipedia page on The Lion King - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lion_King

Over the next several days, you manage to fall into a routine - shocking, right? Luckily, part of your daily routine is marveling at the fact that you've actually got a daily routine now. That typically happens right around lunchtime. You're pretty consistent.

Though you're not contractually obligated to assist the Avengers in any way, shape, or form anymore, you still do. You grab them coffee when they need it, act as an aesthetic consultant for Tony's new inventions (the man can't bear not to be flashy), yank Clint's arrows out of practice targets and toss them back to him with considerably poorer aim, and occasionally referee very intense games of Mario Kart. You thought that was a strange request the first time they asked you to ref, but Thor has broken three Wii remotes so far in his excitement and/or rage. Clint and Natasha constantly accuse each other of cheating, and the courses always seem to change from game to game - Tony insists that's not his fault. If anybody needs a referee, it's them.

Side note: Bruce is actually responsible for the changing courses. You don't plan on letting him know that you know.

Despite the fact that you still perform various and admittedly sort of weird assistive duties, you don't consider yourself to be an assistant. Neither do the Avengers. Because for every time you do something a regular assistant would do, you throw in a joke or friendly comment or the occasional hug, or spend just as much time doing your own thing, playing with the tech and sometimes coding weird actions and phrases into JARVIS or the other AIs and systems (with their permission, of course). And that's not assistant stuff. That's friend stuff.

Because you're a friend now.

One afternoon, you realize the Tower is suspiciously quiet. You're all technology-ed out for the day, so you make a quick search for any of your newfound friends. Nat and Clint went up to the roof for some super-secret training thing, so they're out. Tony and Bruce are hosting some weird scientist press conference and won't be back until after dinner, so they're out. You haven't got the foggiest idea where Steve and Thor are, but they're not here. Eventually you find yourself flipping through Tony Stark's overwhelmingly comprehensive movie collection. After getting past all of the Fast and Furious movies on Blu-Ray and being unsure why Tony had to own them all on Blu-Ray, you get to the Disney section. Your eye is immediately drawn to The Lion King.

Hello, childhood. You immediately attempt to put it into the DVD player - and then spend several minutes figuring out how to open the DVD player, finally figuring it out with JARVIS's help. It then takes you another ten minutes to get the TV to the correct channel so you can actually watch the movie (turns out you were using the wrong remote). Seriously, for somebody who can typically figure out complex robotics and huge blocks of code, you're having a rough time with the entertainment system.

When you've finally got everything set up, you run to the kitchen to grab a snack, wrap yourself in a blanket, and hit Play. For how fun it's been, being a friend, you don't get much chance to unwind. You work and joke and dash from place to place, and you go to bed exhausted every night. Right now, it's You Time.

Although it's been years since you last saw this movie, you find you still know the Swahili at the beginning by heart. At first you resist belting it out, but then you figure, hey! Why not? Not like there's anybody else here right now.

 

 

Thor pauses outside the door to one of the Tower's many TV and entertainment rooms. He hears singing, and this is confusing, because he was certain he was the only person in the Tower. Upon closer inspection, he discovers a mysterious lump, wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch in front of a flickering TV. Upon even closer inspection, he realizes that you are the mysterious lump.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks, because that blanket burrito honestly looks awesome.

You jump about a mile, almost spilling your snacks but shifting your legs at the last second to rebalance them. "Thor! You scared me. I thought I was home alone."

"As did I," he replies, smiling. You smile back and scoot over, making a space for him to sit down. He happily takes it. You seem to be watching a movie he's never seen before. He's worked his way through an impressive percentage of Tony's movie collection in an attempt to understand Midgardian culture better, and he's always happy for new material. 

"Who is that?" he asks, gesturing at the screen.

"That's Simba," you explain. "And that's Nala. And that's Mufasa."

"This is a movie about lions," he says.

"Indeed," you reply, stifling a giggle. "Now hush."

After a few minutes, you untangle an arm from the blanket burrito and hand him your snack plate. He takes a few for himself and nods to thank you. He knows better than to talk during this movie, which you obviously know very well. It seems to mean quite a bit to you. He can see you smile a few seconds before every joke, and you wriggle in your seat every time a song is about to begin. He's trying to pay attention to the movie, he really is, but he finds he enjoys your reactions to what's on the screen more than he enjoys the screen itself.

You're very distracting.

 

 

As soon as you hear the opening music to a song, you start dancing in place - well, it's more of an exaggerated wiggle due to the whole blanket cocoon situation. And this is one of your favorites. Actually they're all your favorites, but "I Just Can't Wait To Be King" is certainly well-placed on the list. As you hum the opening bars, you glance over at Thor and come to a realization.

Over the past week and a half, you've come into bits and pieces of knowledge about the Avengers' respective pasts, though some people on the team were far less forthcoming than your curiosity would like. One of the people you know a tad more about is Thor, including some of his background before Earth.

"Hey," you say, nudging him with a blanketed elbow. "Dude, this is your song."

He cocks his head to listen, almost like a dog. It's pretty funny. You let him get through the first verse just listening, but when it comes to the chorus, you simply can't resist singing along. "Thus far a rather uninspiring thing... oh, I just can't  _wait_ to be king!"

Thor chuckles. "It does indeed remind me of myself... admittedly several years past."

"Imagine if you had seen The Lion King back then," you reply, failing to hold in your own giggles.

When the next chorus comes around, the both of you are singing.

"Oh, I just can't  _wait_ to be king!"

You've got to admit: you loved this movie before, but it's lovely watching with company. Now you've got somebody to squeal excitedly at when your favorite parts are about to happen. Now you've got somebody to sing along with at the top of your lungs. Happily, Thor picks up lyrics extremely quickly.

Around the time that "Can You Feel The Love Tonight" is about to come on - another of your favorites, of course - you start feeling pins and needles in your feet. Maybe sitting all wrapped up for so long wasn't the best idea. You hand Thor the plate before stretching out and repositioning yourself on the couch. Now you're leaning on his shoulder and your feet are propped up on the arm of the couch. Much comfier.

In fact, so comfy that you feel yourself dozing off. You have been running everywhere for a week and a half. Maybe it's time you took a mid-afternoon nap for once. You yawn, and the whole world is hazy and quiet in that way it is when you're drowsy, but you still mumble along to the song. You're nothing if not dedicated.

 

 

Thor tries to keep his laughter quiet and tries not to move too much while he's laughing, both for fear of disturbing you. You're really something, falling asleep on his shoulder but still trying to sing along to the songs you know so well. You're really something.

"Go to sleep, Lady [Y/N]. I will sing along to all of the music in your place," he assures you.

You smile and nod, even though nodding is weird when you're lying down, and then you close your eyes. Aside from the songs, which he really does do his best to sing along to (Thor keeps his promises, dammit), he watches the rest of the movie in silence. Towards the end, Clint and Natasha walk in, and Thor shushes them rather loudly before they're even capable of making any noise. He then points to you. They nod and creep back out again.

In the hallway outside, Clint curses quietly. "I think he's winning," he says.

"I wasn't aware this was a competition," Nat replies coolly.

"I know it's not because that's creepy and gross and objectifying," Clint replies, and Nat smiles an "I've taught you well" smile.

"But you're right," she replies, "it does feel like a competition."

"And Thor's winning," Clint insists. Natasha shakes her head.

"We'll see."

 

 

You don't wake up until the movie is over. Your first thought is to ask Thor how he liked it.

"I enjoyed it!" he booms, seemingly very excited to be able to speak loudly again. "I shed a few tears at the end of it. Is there another?"

"There are a few more," you say, "and they're surprisingly good. For Disney sequels, anyway. Is it dinnertime? I smell food." Despite the snacks you had earlier, you're starved. Hey, they say sleeping burns calories.

Thor stands up and then helps you off the couch. The two of you make your way to the kitchen, where everybody else is already eating burgers and fries and assorted other diner food. There's a huge grease-stained paper bag sitting on the counter.

"How was the movie?" Steve asks pleasantly.

"It better have been good," Clint jokes. "I had to pick up this takeout all by myself without anybody to assist."

You shake a reprimanding finger at him. "Hey now. I'm the friend, not the assistant."

The conversation is idle and wonderful, and you enjoy yourself immensely. You're really getting used to having these folks around. In fact, you break from your daily routine to marvel for a second time at the fact that you're actually getting used to this life. There's a drawn-out argument on the logistics of lifting Thor's hammer (What happens if you put it in water? How about pulleys? Could a puppy lift it?). There's a brief food fight consisting entirely of French fry javelins which only ends when everybody collectively realizes that Clint is overqualified for food fights consisting entirely of French fry javelins. There's a conversation about how weird it is that they've started making Avengers merchandise, and what it's like seeing your own face on a t-shirt.

Man, you love this job.

Things start going a little wrong after a brief lull in the conversation, right as everybody's finishing up. Because after that brief lull, Thor "ahem"s.

 

 

The Avengers don't like the tone of Thor's "ahem." He sounds nervous, and the day when the God of Thunder is nervous about anything is a dark day indeed.

"I had forgotten to tell you, my friends," he says. Everybody groans.

_This cannot be good._

"After... an incident... with another realm, my brother Loki is being relocated. They feel it is better for him to be somewhere with minimal access to the other realms."

"Awesome," Bruce says. "Not letting Loki into this realm is the best idea I've heard all day."

"They also feel it is better if I am capable of watching over my brother," Thor continues, hesitantly.

"Aww, leaving so soon?" Tony asks through a mouthful of food. "Darn. Was really getting used to you taunting me about that stupid hammer of yours. I'm telling you it's just physics."

"I am not leaving," Thor replies. "Loki is coming here."

"When?" comes the chorus.

Thor averts his eyes. "Tomorrow."

 

 

Judging by the looks on everybody's faces, that can't be a good thing. You glance around, a little worried, but to be honest, you're not quite sure what's so terrible about Thor's brother coming for a visit, even if it is soon. "An incident" does sound a little ominous, true, but going by how Thor turned out, Asgardians don't seem to be a bad lot. If anything, meeting somebody new and powerful and related to an Avenger is cause for excitement in your book.

You're not worried.

At least, until you catch the tail end of a phrase that Clint whispers to Steve.

"So much for not bringing the bad guys home for dinner," he says.


	6. La Victoire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of blood and violence.
> 
> Loki has finally arrived on the scene and, surprise surprise, you've caught his attention. But before that, you were back on the roof. There must be a reason you keep going. Interesting things seem to happen when you're up there. I'm sure you'll find out eventually...

Clint Barton can't sleep. Which isn't all that out of the ordinary for him, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. He's spent the past four hours tossing and turning. Blankets on, blankets off, blankets on except for one foot sticking out. At this point he's prepared to give up.

Clint sighs, closes his eyes one last time, opens them a few minutes later, and decides it's time to call it quits. He swings his legs out of bed and walks silently through the halls of the Tower. He's going to the roof.

On the long elevator ride up, Clint slumps against the wall. He's loath to admit human weakness to the team, especially when he has a tough time believing he's still rolling with the superhumans in the first place, but Loki coming to town is freaking him out big-time. After all, last time the God of Mischief made a stop in New York City, things didn't go so well. Lots of infrastructure got damaged, not to mention the Chitauri cleanup costs. And now he's coming back. Of course, this time he hasn't got an army behind him, but still! Who knows what sort of shit he's going to get up to?

It would be bad enough at any other time, but now you're here. They talked about it after you went to bed last night, and none of the Avengers think Loki is a good idea right now. After all, most employers don't want to scare off the new girl just a week and a half after she first arrives, but it's worse because it's  _you_. Everybody was arguing loudly against him getting anywhere near you. It wasn't really an argument, since even Thor agreed that it's better to keep Loki away from you, but it was somehow still a losing battle.

Loki's coming to Earth, and more specifically, New York City. Whether anybody likes it or not.

The elevator emits a soft chime to signal Clint's arrival at the roof. He's shocked to find that he's not the only person up there.

 

 

You shiver once, startled, when you hear the elevator ding. You kinda thought you were the only person weird enough to come up to the roof at 2:47 a.m. But you couldn't sleep, and enough time has passed since the Tour Incident that you're starting to feel like heights aren't so bad again. You like the wind in your face. You're not leaning over the edge this time, though. But all that's beside the point, which is that someone else was crazy and/or sleepless enough to come up to the roof at 2:47 - actually now it's 2:48 - in the freaking morning.

That someone is Clint Barton, arrow-shooting extraordinaire.

"Hey, Katniss," you greet him, coupling your words with a tiny wave.

"Hey, [Y/N]," he replies. "You need a clever nickname."

"As soon as I develop incredible and nickname-worthy skills, I'll get right on that," you say with a roll of your eyes. 

He walks over and sits down next to you. You're not really sure what to say. Your brain is exhausted but you just haven't been able to sleep. Maybe it's because you took a nap this afternoon, you're not really sure. Either way, you don't doubt for a second that anything you say will be messy and incoherent. Luckily, Clint doesn't speak either. You just sit there, letting your hair get all tangled in the rushing wind. Being awake these past hours has given you time to think. What did Loki do? Why precisely are they bringing him to Earth? Why is everybody so scared of him? You've got basic knowledge of Norse mythology, but this is real, and it really seems to be giving the Avengers some trouble.

"I wanna learn how to fight," you say. Your words are carried away by the wind, and you know by the look Clint gives you that he heard nothing you just said. You try again, shouting.

"I want! To learn! How to fight!"

"Oh!" he shouts back. "Why?"

"I just do!" you yell.

He replies by yelling something that you can't hear. This damn wind. "What?" you shout.

He shakes his head before grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. You let him lead you to the elevator. It's a long, long way down - he's pressed the button for the basement. He doesn't speak, not yet. You're a little bit confused, but Clint doesn't really seem like the type to lead you to your death in the Tower basement, so you're not terribly frightened.

There's that pleasant chime that you're getting used to, and you realize that the basement is one huge, open space. It's lined with mats and punching bags and there's a boxing ring roped off in one corner, as well as targets and lockers and a drink station. It's one helluva training room.

Clint grins. "I said, I'll teach you."

 

 

The steady tick of the clock fades into quiet, reassuring white noise beneath the dusty slap of skin on punching bag. Clint discovers that while you have no idea how to fight by any means, you pick up the basics pretty quickly. He shows you the important bits: here's how you throw a hard punch without breaking a wrist, here's how you use the other person's body weight against them, here's how you throw a proper kick without losing your balance.

That punching bag doesn't stand a chance.

After an hour and a half or so, Clint insists you break for water, even though you keep telling him you want to keep going.

"Geez, what happened to Miss Short Attention Span?" he teases, even as he finally gets you over to the drink station.

"Please don't make that my nickname," you say in between gulps of water. "And... I dunno. You're teaching me something new every few minutes. I don't have time to get bored. Besides. This is important."

And when you say that, you look him right in the eyes. There's a light there, but not the sunshine kind of light. This one is a wildfire behind your pupils, and in that instant, Clint feels as though this is the most important thing he has ever done. You look fierce and uncontrollable and a little bit vulnerable, somewhere in that wildfire. You are only just learning how to fight, but Clint can see you. And you are a fighter.

 _They haven't seen you like this,_ he thinks. And they haven't. No one has, no one but him. Not yet.

He smiles. "Drink up. You're fighting me next. Punching bags are great, but they don't punch back."

You swallow the last of your water and set down your cup. You raise your arms over your head in a stretch before  _leaping,_ too fast, so fast that Clint just has enough time to get his hands up before he's stumbling backwards. But you're not attacking him. You're hugging him. Clint is trapped, but it's far from unpleasant.

"This is kind of an unconventional strategy, you know," he says with a laugh.

"Yeah," you mumble into his shoulder. "But I'm winning."

He repeats the words in his head, and they mean something different.

_I'm winning._

 

 

There are no windows in the basement, so you don't know when the sun rises, but you and Clint spar until it must be well past daybreak. You're perfectly aware that he's going easy on you. You're not going easy on him. You're fighting as hard as you can. You only know a few basics, but you are putting them to every use you know how. At first, you lose. Badly. You can feel every spot where there will be a lump or a bruise or, in the bad cases, a cut.

Your energy falters in several spots, and you slow down, but you don't stop. You  _won't_ stop. Clint may tease you about being Miss Short Attention Span, and maybe that's true, but not here. Not now. Because the fact is in a fight, things change every second. You're racing just to keep up. It's exhausting. It's terrifying.

It's also thrilling.

Toward the end, you get Clint with several good shots. You clip him in the jaw, too, though by some unspoken rule you've both been avoiding the face. Maybe as revenge, more likely as an accident, his fist glances off of your lip and you feel it split. You smile, just a little bit.

The clock makes a little chiming noise to signal six o'clock in the morning and you both try to kick each other. Your shins clash, your ankles tangle, and you both topple to the ground. There's a brief pause as you assess your injuries, and then you burst out laughing.

"I think we're done for the morning, wouldn't you agree?" you ask, though you're muffling your own voice a bit. You pat at your lip with the back of your hand. It's bleeding gently.

He nods. Your laughter catches, and soon he's laughing, and then you're giggling again.

"We should probably go upstairs," Clint says.

"We probably should," you agree. He stands and helps you to your feet.

 _What a night,_ you think, walking toward the elevator.  _And yet I'm not tired at all. Except for my muscles hurting like hell, I guess. I'm sure it'll all hit me later in the day. But for now..._

This ain't so bad.

Perhaps something about elevators inspires you both to keep silent, or perhaps you're just thinking over the night's (morning's?) work. Either way, neither of you says anything. But right before the elevator slides to a stop on the floor where the other Avengers are bound to be having breakfast right now, a certain silliness comes over you. Probably just the sleep deprivation setting in. You don't care. It's kind of nice.

You lean up and kiss Clint on the cheek. "Thanks," you say. And then you start laughing all over again, looking at him, because you've forgotten about your lip.

"What? What's so funny? I... there's blood on me now, isn't there?"

You nod. Clint rolls his eyes.

"You're gross," he says.

You nod. "Also very tired," you say.

The doors open just in time for a blinding flash of light. Your hand flies up of its own accord to shield yourself from the radiance. It doesn't work. When you can finally open your eyes again, you see four annoyed-looking Avengers at the breakfast table and another directly in front of you. Thor has his hand on his brother's shoulder.

You step out of the elevator.

 

 

Loki is generally not on board with The Plan. The Plan involves removing him from Asgard, where he's causing "too much trouble" - honestly, they don't allow any fun anymore. The Plan then details that he should be brought to Earth and supervised by his brother (ugh) and his Avenger friends (ugh). The journey here, though short and light-filled, was much like an awkward drive home from the airport.

It was lousy. Loki really does not want to be here.

The first thing he sees in the infamous Tower is not his brother Thor's compatriots, or some ridiculously outdated piece of Midgardian technology, or a dog. He had been hoping for a dog. He was introduced to a few on his last visit to Earth and he rather likes them.

It's better.

He knows immediately that this is you, this is the girl. Thor didn't tell Loki about you, but he knows anyway. You, with your messy hair stuck to your forehead. You, with your split lip, so much darker red than the rest of you. You, with the traces of makeup that you forgot to remove last night. You, with your too-short shorts and too-big shirt. You, with fear in your body language (he's partial to fear) and curiosity in your eyes (he likes curiosity far more).

Loki bows low by way of introduction, though he doesn't take his eyes off of you. He's surprised, and pleasantly so, when you execute a slightly clumsy but somehow very elegant curtsy in response.

"I am Loki," he says.

"I figured," you reply. Loki smiles. He has spent the past who-knows-how-long (time is so fickle between the realms) scowling. The smile hurts his cheeks and he does not care one bit.

You were not part of The Plan.

_Perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I sure did a lot of fighting stuff in here. ...Can you tell I do karate? :/
> 
> I've been reading all of your comments, and I love all of the suggestions I've been getting! Please, keep them coming, because reading the things you have to say brightens my day right the heck up. I hope you've been enjoying the story so far!


	7. Litter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter all about puppy love. (Apologies to those of you who aren't dog people.) But your kind, trusting nature seems to have served you well. So far, anyway...

Breakfast is strained. Steve, Nat, Tony, and Bruce had only just started when you and Clint (and Loki and Thor) got there. By some wordless rule, they all get up when it becomes clear that Loki is going to sit down. He chooses a seat with a smile still curling, tugging at half of his mouth. Breakfast re-forms around him, Avengers first rushing to occupy the seats just next to him, then radiating outward from there. They make sure to leave one seat open, and this one is for you.

Whether one measures linearly across the tabletop or in distance around it, this is the farthest seat from Loki. He notices this immediately, of course, and allows that persistent smile to inch across the other half of his mouth.

Everybody eats in silence. The Avengers don't really feel like talking right now. Things are happening that just about none of them are okay with. You just curtsied to a guy who tried to rule the world about a year back. Clint's got an off-red mark on his cheek that looks suspiciously lip-shaped. Life was just starting to settle into a pretty lovely routine. And now it isn't.

A flinch spreads across the table when you suddenly start talking.

"I'm going to make the obligatory comment about how awkward this is," you say. "This is awkward. There, awesome, that's out of the way. Now could somebody please tell me why the hell we're all so terrified of Loki? I'm dying over here."

"Curiosity killed the cat, [Y/N]," Loki cuts in smoothly.

"But the satisfaction brought it back," you retort. "Funny, everybody always seems to forget the second half of that saying."

Loki starts to say something else, but the instant he makes a sound, Steve jumps in, shooting Loki a sidelong glance in the process. "Last time Loki here was on Earth, he tried to enslave a lot of good people and led an army through a portal and into New York City. Lots of things were destroyed and lots of people died."

"So basically, dick move," Tony pipes up.

 

 

You're startled. You'd first heard of the Avengers when they stopped... somebody... from wrecking New York awhile back. There was worldwide news coverage for weeks, and they've been a favorite filler topic for the 6 o'clock anchors ever since. But up until now, you hadn't thought to connect Thor's younger brother with that particular incident. City-wrecking and world domination seem a little too large-scale for a so-called God of Mischief, at least to you.

"Why'd you do it?" you ask, instinctively, then think better of it. This breakfast is covered with enough black clouds as it is. "Actually, no. Don't answer that. You've probably got a tragic backstory all prepared, and frankly I just can't listen to those before noon. You did what you did."

Loki shrugs. "I can't argue with that. I'm changing my ways, though. Turning over a new leaf, or whatever that expression is."

"Literally nobody cares, Loki," Clint says without even looking up from his waffle.

"I care," you say. You do, too. Of course, you find it hard to believe that you'll ever trust Loki, because how could anybody after what he pulled before? But it really does seem unfair not to give somebody the benefit of the doubt, especially when you've only just met him today.

 _After all,_ you reason with yourself,  _that's what the Avengers did for me._

"Probably not the best move, [Y/N]," Bruce warns.

Tony adds, "Yeah, no kidding. Remind me, how are you so trusting again?"

You consider that for a moment. You're not sure how trusting you really are, but you like being this way. You speak slowly when you answer. "Because," you say, "I prefer to give people the chance to prove me right, instead of having to spend their whole lives trying to prove me wrong."

"Are you planning on keeping this one?" Loki asks, addressing the table. "Because if you don't, I will."

If looks could only kill, Loki would be dead on the floor six times over. You let out the rest of your breath sharply, in something between a sigh and an exasperated snort, and push your chair back from the table.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up and get dressed," you announce to the group. "And then I'm going out for the day. I know you can't get your issues worked out in one day, but for god's sake, can you please try? At this point, I don't even care which god."

Once you're in the shower and have had some time to think, you feel bad for snapping at your friends. After all, Loki literally did try to take over the world. But you're annoyed with him too, with all of them, because all they do is  _glare_ at each other. Screaming, yelling, fistfights, anything would be better than being caught in the crossfire of a million silent, dirty looks. It sorta ruined your appetite.

You wash the shampoo out of your hair and try not to worry about it too much. Everything's got to work out.

Right?

 

 

"Now look what you made her do," Loki chides as soon as you're out of earshot.

"Loki," Thor says. There's a warning tone in his voice that turns it almost into a growl. Loki takes no notice, just leans his chair back until it's barely balancing on two legs, ready to crash down at any second.

"I don't know about you boys, but I think [Y/N] is onto something," Natasha says. "It would do us all some good to get out for a day." She stands, taking her plate and silverware with her. After placing them neatly in the dishwasher, she exits the room without a backward glance. Slowly, everybody follows suit. Stand, dishwasher, leave. Even Thor goes, leaving his brother behind him.

Loki remains at the breakfast table, still tilted all the way back in his chair, oh-so-tempted to move just a little bit, to let it clatter to the ground and splinter. He waits and waits, and then slowly lowers his chair back to its sturdy resting place on all four legs. He also puts his dishes in the dishwasher, but he doesn't start it. He's not quite that nice.

None of them knows it, but in their separate rooms and some on separate floors and all trapped in their separate lives, the Avengers and the man they spent their first mission fighting are all considering your words from earlier.  _I prefer to give people the chance to prove me right, instead of having to spend their whole lives trying to prove me wrong._

Even as he rebuttons the shirt that he did crooked the first time, Steve mutters to himself, "She's something else."

That sentiment is repeated, if not aloud, throughout the Tower. A quiet, mental echo, ringing off the insides of seven different heads.

_She's something else._

_She's something else._

_She's something else._

 

 

It's a sunny day, but cold, too cold for this time of year. You shiver in your jacket as you weave your way through crowded sidewalks. You don't have any destination in mind - when you left the Tower, you just picked a direction and started walking. You're familiar enough with New York City that you won't be getting lost, but that doesn't mean you recognize most of the places you pass. A shoe store, three apartment complexes, a Starbucks, a McDonalds, an art supply store, a bakery. You stop into places at random, buying a pair of biscuits from that first bakery that you see (you didn't eat much at breakfast, and after the night of training you had, you certainly need food).

Your progress is arrested when you hear soft yapping. As you look to your left, you see a tiny puppy nose making a tiny puppy nose print on the glass of the storefront. Beside it are two more tiny puppy noses. Of course, you immediately go inside. There's a paper sign taped to the door that you pay absolutely no attention to, so the only thing you catch is today's date before the door swings shut behind you, coupled with the jingle of a bell.

The man behind the counter looks utterly apathetic. "How can I help you?" he drones in a way that suggests he  _really_ does not want to help you. The name tag pinned to his lapel says Omar.

You don't answer. Open cages line the back wall. Every other available surface is covered in packaged treats, chew toys, collars, and leashes for sale. The floor is dirty, but that's not the interesting part about it. The interesting part about the floor is that half a dozen puppies are scampering around on it. You recognize one from the window. 

"Could you tell me about them? Why are they all here?" you ask Omar, rather vaguely. It's kind of distracting when you're being swarmed by adorable dogs. You catch sight of a pug and two chocolate labs and what might be a dachshund before they dissolve back into the furry mass.

"We're a dog supply store," Omar says, still sounding like he'd rather be anywhere else. "We double as a shelter. Today's the deadline, and these are the ones that didn't get adopted yet, so if you're looking for a dog, take one now. All house-trained. Twenty bucks a puppy."

That's awfully cheap for a dog. You wonder why such adorable and healthy-seeming animals are being sold for so little. Then something else Omar said hits you. "Wait, the deadline for what?"

"Didn't you read the sign on the door? We're a kill shelter. We close down in a week. Gotta sell 'em all by the end of the day, or else it's..." He makes a rather graphic death noise coupled with sliding a finger across his throat.

You can't help it: you gasp. All of these dogs are going to die. Today. Your first thought is to call everyone you know and demand that they get a dog. You can't stand by and let all of these puppies die!

A tiny corgi hops into your lap and you remember, suddenly, that you're friends with one of the richest people in the world. You pull out your cell phone immediately.

"Hi, Tony?" you say. "Yeah, something important has come up. I need to borrow one hundred and sixty... wait no, I'll need eight of those, plus food... hang on. Gimme a second." You do a quick spin of the store, calculating the cost of collars, leashes, bowls, food, and toys. "Alright, you still there? Awesome. Counting tax, I need to borrow approximately four hundred and twenty dollars. You sure? I can just... dude, are you sure you wanna trust me with your credit card information? Yes, you're rich, I get it. No, just... Okay, you know what? I'll meet you at the corner of - yeah, sure, that's fine, I'm right near there. Okay. Okay. Bye."

You end the call, turn to look Omar straight in his bored eyes, and tell him, "Don't let anybody hurt these puppies. I'll be back in fifteen minutes, tops."

You rush from the store, then, the bell tinkling behind you. You only pause to tear the paper notice from the door and throw it in the first trash can you find.

 

 

Tony Stark has no idea what you need the money so urgently for, and frankly, he doesn't care. You're a bit out of breath when you reach him. You've been running, it seems.

He grins. "Where's the fire, huh?"

You shake your head. "Joke later, man. I'm freaked out. This is important."

This, of course, freaks him out. He hands you the money right away and asks no more questions. You glance at it and raise your eyebrows.

"All in cash? Do you just carry this shit around in your wallet?"

"No, but this seemed sort of suspicious and drug deal-y," he says. "Figured you could use it all in cash."

"Oh, whatever," you say. And then you kiss him on the cheek and whirl away, calling back over your shoulder, "You're a lifesaver, Tony Stark! I really mean it!" You disappear around the corner then. He thinks maybe he should be worried about what's going on, but you just kissed him on the cheek and even if this is a drug deal, he doesn't care overmuch. He waits around, signs a few autographs for people who recognize him. He figures maybe you'll come back that way, but you don't.

He makes his way back to the Tower. A block away, he bumps into Bruce. "Hey, have you seen [Y/N]?" he asks.

Bruce shakes his head. "I haven't seen anybody since breakfast. I think everybody decided they should take a walk to clear their head. I am."

"Huh," Tony says. "Alright. Care if I come with you?"

"Do I have a choice?" Bruce asks, but he's half-joking, and it's alright.

There are wanderers in New York City, seven of them, all residents of the Tower now, but you are not among them.

Imagine their surprise when they arrive back at the Tower, one by one. Tony is confused, to say the least, when he discovers what you needed the money for.

 

 

You look up at the confused and disapproving faces of your friends from your place on the floor, among the puppies. "Look, I can explain," you say. You detail the story of Bored Omar and the kill shelter and the faces in the window and how you couldn't stand by and let innocent pets die. Some people understand more quickly than others, but everyone assures you that they're not mad in the slightest. Luckily, nobody's allergic to dogs.

"I'm glad you did it," Steve says. "It was the right thing to do."

"See, Cap gets it," you say. "Now I need help naming them. This one" - and here you hold up the corgi - "is named Florrie, but... that's as far as I got."

It's a sharp contrast to this morning. In small groups, the Avengers (and Loki, too) find places on the floor, letting the mess of puppies crawl all over them and sniff them and lick them and yap their tiny yaps at them. One by one, each puppy receives a name. Florrie, Mason, Cupid, Jon Snow, Tuco, Sabrina, Hestia, and Dmitri.

Surely there will be more issues later. Puppies grow up, fragile alliances break, the weight shifts and the chair slams against the floor and the floor wins every time. But nobody mentions them, and you are so very thankful for that. Nobody wants to think about the black clouds from this morning or the black clouds on the horizon.

Because right now, there's you, and you're happy, and your laughter rings like the bell on the door of a pet shop. And even besides you, there are eight puppies. And for now, everything is right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you enough for all of the kind words you've put into the story! And please, if you have something you'd like to say, comments are my favorite part!
> 
> And now, a question - they say "begin with the end in mind," but I'm afraid I haven't. If you could choose, how would you see this story end?


	8. Autumn Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Fury sent you to the Avengers for a reason.

Time passes. In fact, that's about the only thing time does. You know this, of course, as well as anybody else, but it still startles you to find that you've been employed as a friend of the Avengers for nearly two months. The puppies are getting bigger, and though they were all relatively close in size when you first got them, a month and a half ago, the size differences are starting to show. Dmitri, the dachshund, hardly got any bigger at all, but Sabrina, the Bernese mountain dog, practically knocks you over every time she bounds up to say hello.

Aside from eight dogs eating you out of house and home as they grow (seriously, you have to buy a new bag of food like every day), shockingly little changes in the Tower. You make coffee runs, and finally get all three of those robots up and running again, and spend lots of time up on the roof with the wind in your face, and finally get to join in the Mario Kart tournaments instead of refereeing - that one is an interesting turn of events, actually. The Avengers still aren't fond of Loki, but they've learned to tolerate him, and in fact made him the new Mario Kart referee. After all, a man with an uncannily good natural lie detector makes the best referee.

Once, the Avengers get word of something big happening, an old-school arms dealer with a host of loyal fighters who they'd sooner not have around. A chance to suit up and be a Team again. Not one of them says it to another, but every one of them separately confides in you that they're excited.

They don't trust Loki enough to leave alone, so they bring him along. He's a prisoner, of course, but he still gets to go.

When they leave, you pretend you're not jealous. The tower is yours to command for three days. You do everything you do normally, but your head is occupied constantly.

 _What would that be like?_  you wonder.  _Seeing your face printed on merchandise in stores. Being able to say you're "suiting up," jetting off to save the world from one thing or another._

It's while they're away, all of them, that it really sinks in.

_I may be their friend, but I am not one of them._

 

 

 

The Avengers return two days before Halloween. They stumble into the Tower in one big tangle, all of them roughed up quite a bit but nobody grievously injured, complaining about how loudly Tony blasted the music on the flight home. He insists that he simply had to turn it up loud enough so Clint could hear.

Clint removes his hearing aids and throws them at Tony.

As the boys are busy scuffling - like they didn't do enough of that in the past few days - Natasha pulls out her phone and texts you quickly (it says "Honey, we're home"), knowing you might be out and might not want to be surprised by coming home to six injured Avengers and a very irritated Loki. But she gets a reply within a few seconds.

"[Y/N] says welcome back," Natasha says, and though the guys are all talking, she knows she doesn't have to raise her voice to be heard.

"Is she here?" Thor asks at once. Nat shrugs.

"She didn't say that." This is a lie, but from the tone of your text, which was several exclamation points short of your usual, Natasha gathers that you're probably not in the mood for this much company at the moment. So she's not telling the Avengers where you are.

You'll come down from the roof on your own time.

Still, that doesn't mean Natasha has to avoid you too. She slips away just as soon as she can, which is very, very soon. She's good at that.

Your back is to the elevator, and you don't turn around when it opens. Upon closer inspection, Nat realizes that you're sitting on the ledge, kicking your legs back and forth like a little kid.

"We barely managed without you," Nat says.

You turn around then, planting your feet firmly on the roof now, but you still don't speak. Nat wonders what happened, if anything happened. She's never seen you like this, but then, you don't get to know everything about a person in two months. Still, you don't act like this, to her knowledge. Something happened. Natasha considers finding out what it is, in her way, the only way she really knows how, picking up on every word and look and shift in your conversation to decipher exactly what you mean behind your words.

 _Or,_ she thinks,  _I could just ask._

Funny, she's never thought that before.

Natasha walks over to the ledge and sits down next to you. She doesn't ask you what's wrong. But she also doesn't actually say anything. All she does is wait and hope you'll feel like telling her something.

And as it turns out, you're not very good at silence. At least, not for long.

"What's it feel like?" you burst out, finally. "All the Earth's Mightiest Heroes-type stuff."

"I'd ask a hero," Natasha says, and it sounds like she's joking, but it feels like she's not.

"Right, I'm asking you," you insist. "You just flew off in a jet and saved at least a decent chunk of the world from a real asshole. You're on the news. Your face is on tote bags at Target."

"I don't know why they started making those," she muses.

"Well, regardless. You are on a team with a  _literal_ god. Is it... what's it like?"

"You're feeling curious tonight, aren't you?" Natasha asks.

You shake your head. "Nah, I know it's really, really stupid of me. I'm just not sure how qualified I am to be your friend. Paid or not."

 _Oh, if only you knew,_ Natasha thinks.  _I could tell you that there have been at least three shouting matches over who would be the best match for you. I could tell you that I was part of the most recent one. I could tell you that Tony and Clint got drunk two weeks ago and decided that playing Fuck, Marry, Kill was a brilliant idea, and you were in maybe eighty percent of the options, and you were always F or M and never K. Should I tell you?_

 

 

Natasha doesn't seem affected at all by this statement. "Fury sent you for a reason," she says.

You consider that. "I suppose," you say. "But he didn't even tell  _me_ what that reason is, not really. Does that not seem a little suspicious?"

"Everything Fury does seems suspicious to me," Nat replies. "I try not to let it affect my daily life. But you could always ask him. Stark invited him to the party."

"Party? How the hell did he have time to plan a party while you guys were in Europe?"

"He's Stark. How the hell does he do anything?"

 _A valid point,_ you think. "I'm assuming it's a Halloween party," you venture. Nat nods. "Am I invited?"

She smiles at you, a wry little smile that you've seen before, but never directed at you. "In fact," she says, "I think you're the guest of honor."

It's just what you needed, because of course it's just what you needed, because if anybody would know, it's Natasha. 

"Do you want a hug?" you ask.

She makes a small "huh" noise and says sure, she'd like a hug. So you hug her, tight. Natasha Romanoff: Just What You Needed.  _I ought to write her biography,_ you think. And then you grin at her and hop off the ledge. You're going downstairs to greet your friends. Because, powerless and boring though you think you may be, they're the ones paying you to stick around. And that has to count for something.

It is two days later and you're on the roof again, but this time, you're entertaining. There's a champagne flute in your hand and a mask on your face, and you're regaling a dozen guests with the story of The Time I Adopted Eight Puppies Because I'm A Huge Softie, as you're calling it. After two other groups of people circulated onto and off of the roof, you've found your perfect rhythm with this story, mixing a dead-on impression of Omar with just the right amount of self-deprecating humor, and the guests are in stitches. You're enjoying yourself immensely. Though you haven't seen Fury anywhere at the party tonight, you're starting to think you don't care all that much.

If there's one thing to be said for Tony Stark, he throws a killer Halloween party. Knowing him, you figured he might go a bit sillier or over-the-top than he did, but he didn't. There are softly glowing gourds and pumpkins in buttery yellows and oranges on every available surface, but shadows still blanket the world around you. It's not creepy, but it is mysterious, the perfect aura of anything-can-happen that Halloween deserves. Instead of making it a costume party, he turned it into a sort of masquerade ball - every guest got a mask. There's a rainbow of colors. Your own happens to be plain white, but with delicate scrolls in your favorite color painted across it. And the food, of course, has been top-notch. You swear Tony knows the best chefs in New York - and that's underestimating him.

As you finish the story by leaning down to scratch Florrie's ears (she's been tagging along at your heels all night), you spot Bruce across the way and stride over to say hello. He's at the edge, leaning out and looking over the city. He's not wearing a mask, though he does have one pushed up on his head like a pair of goggles.

"Enjoying the party, Bruce?" you ask.

"Not really," he says candidly. "Too many people. Makes me feel penned in."

"Then this would be the spot," you agree, drinking in the city lights all around you. You can practically hear the doorbells buzzing and the tiny-kid voices "trick or treat"-ing over and over. It's a nice sight, and Bruce is right. It's a welcome change from all the people pressing in.

It suddenly occurs to you that you probably count as part of all the people. "Hey, if you want to be alone, I can-"

"No, no, stay," he says. "I like company in small doses."

You two lean out over the city together and talk. The wind is calmer tonight, still rushing to and fro, stirring the ribbons on people's masks and dresses, but tonight it's a whisper more than a song. On a whim, you reach out and squeeze his hand, gently, and he smiles at you like you just hung the moon for him.

You can see the moon, through a gap in the wispy, scudding clouds. It's only a crescent tonight, and waning still, but it's the color of a ripe pumpkin, and you swear that if nature didn't pick it out just for the occasion, Tony probably did. You say as much to Bruce, and he chuckles.

"I wouldn't put it past him," he says. "How much do you think Tony Stark had to pay the moon to match his party?"

"Not enough," you say, and you share another laugh.

The chatter from the party makes a warm background noise behind you. You have split your focus between Bruce and the city lights, the whole world spread out beyond the roof of the Tower.

You notice nothing amiss until you feel a pair of hands connect with your back, one single, deliberate shove. You're leaning leaning  _leaning_ but then there is no roof beneath you and no ledge to grab and you hear a roar from the roof but you don't know whether it's real or just the wind howling around you. It reminds you so much of your first day here, Steve giving you a tour,  _do you usually save the assistant falling to her death for later?, second week at least,_ and all you can see is that orange, orange sliver of a moon in the sky and even though you can feel the wind screaming around you, whipping your hair against your face, you cannot truly  _feel_ the fall.

You close your eyes and wait for the sidewalk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just call me George R. R. Martin, folks. Or don't - after all, nobody's dead yet.  
> Thanks for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos - and to the reader who requested a Bernese mountain dog, your wish is my command. ;)  
> Please, keep letting me know what you think of the story. Your feedback is the reason I'm able to update so regularly. And, as always, enjoy!
> 
> NOTICE: I'll be away from my computer and Internet tomorrow, so there won't be an update. However, I promise the usual chapter-per-day schedule will resume the day after.


	9. It's a Bird, It's a Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irony has handed you the greatest gift of your life. But you do seem to be in danger, no matter where you are...

"I officially hate heights now," you mumble to yourself, eyes still squeezed shut. Mostly because it's true, but also because you want to have some clever last words, even if nobody can hear them.

You feel the wind change direction around you, rippling your clothes against your skin and screaming sideways across you.

_How is it doing that?_ you wonder, in a sudden moment of clarity.  _Falling to your death doesn't work like that. And besides, I've been falling for a really long time. This is... this is weird._

You're terrified of what you'll see, because it's most likely the ground rushing up at you, ready to take your life with a splat.

But you open your eyes.

 

 

The partygoers have been hastily redirected downstairs. Nobody saw what happened, somehow. Nobody except for Bruce, who called the Avengers up to the roof as quickly as he could, knowing if he didn't, he probably wouldn't get the chance to. His friends are doing everything they can to calm him,  _you're stronger than him, please keep it under control, you can, you can, you need to._ Because Bruce's eyes keep flashing an unnatural green before returning to brown before they go green of their own accord again, and it is very hard to get information out of the Other Guy.

Finally, he manages one long, deep breath and the last of the green goes out of his eyes. He's angry, yes, he always is. But more than that, he's feeling downright hopeless. And that, at least, won't bring out the Hulk.

"You good?" Clint asks him, and he nods.

"Okay then. Why are we up here?" Steve asks. "What happened?"

Bruce barely has the story straight in his mind, and he's having a hard time articulating it to the rest of the team. Everything happened too fast, too fast for him to do anything. Too fast for him to save you.

"I didn't see who he was," Bruce says. "He was wearing a mask, and it was too dark to see the rest of him. He pushed her."

Their eyes widen. They don't want to believe it, but Bruce could be talking about anybody, right? Maybe... she, whoever she is, is fine, maybe everything is okay. Of course they know who Bruce is talking about, but they can't believe it, not yet.

"Bruce," Nat says tentatively. "Pushed... who?"

Bruce swallows. "[Y/N]," he says, and there go his eyes again. Bright green.  _I should have done something,_ he thinks.  _What if I had caught her? But I didn't. I just stood there and did nothing._

The rest of him starts turning green and greener, and his friends are all torn between disbelief over you, falling, and panic over the imminent Hulk-out. But then Bruce just collapses into a sitting position. Hopelessness doesn't bring out the Hulk. And more than anything, he's feeling hopeless.

"So, she's just... gone?" Tony asks. His voice is quieter than it usually goes.

Bruce looks at them. "I don't know."

The others are shocked, disbelieving, furious, despondent.  _What if I had been up here?_

_What if I hadn't let that guy into the party?_

_What if I had been here with her?_

_What if we could have stopped it?_

It's as if a shotgun blast went off, because suddenly they are all rushing to different edges of the roof, peering down, imagining how it must have felt to fall that far. Nobody says it aloud, but they all know: they're looking for a body on the sidewalk. They're wishing for you, alive, waving up at them from down below, but they're looking for reality. A broken girl a hundred floors below.

And they find nothing. It's dark and the street below is hard to make out, but they see no body. They see no you. No matter how much they want to, they don't see you.

They back away from the edge, one by one.

"On her first day here," Steve murmurs, "I showed her the roof. She almost fell off, but I... I was close and I caught her. I said we couldn't have our assistant falling to her - falling, on her first day. And she said, do you usually save that for later? I told her... second week, at least."

Silence. The lights flicker. There's a muffled sob, but it's hard to tell whether it's one of the Avengers or just the wind moaning. Mourning.

"We should probably call the police, or something," Tony says.

"Yeah," they all agree.

They don't.

 

 

Your eyes are open, and you're staring at the side of a building.  _That's odd,_ you think.  _I should be dead at this point. Maybe this is the afterlife?_

Some afterlife. It's really boring. All it has to offer is the side of one building. You look up. Yep, more building. You look down. More building, yes, but there's a sidewalk far below you, teeming and swirling with kids in costumes. The world spins beneath you. You're dizzy and nauseous. What you wouldn't give to be down there with the trick-or-treaters instead of way up high, way up here. 

Yep, officially afraid of heights.

You level your eyes with the building in front of you again. _Okay, so don't look down. Just keep looking at this building._  It looks an awful lot like the Tower up close. The building somebody just pushed you off of.  _I wonder who that was._

You lean a little to the right, trying to see into one of the windows, and suddenly you're drifting rightward. You straighten yourself up again, startled, and the drifting stops. You're stationary again. Huh. You lean as far left as you can as quickly as you can, and there's a roller-coaster-drop feeling in your gut and you're off like a shot, speeding to the left faster than any human should be able to move. You stop leaning quite so far and your motion slows.

_Now this is a better afterlife,_ you think, laughing to yourself, but you don't feel dead in the slightest. You feel absolutely, positively  _alive._ You spend a good five minutes leaning left and right at various angles, eventually figuring out how to turn corners. You zoom all the way around the building, skimming your fingertips against the wall. A giggle buoys itself up from somewhere deep inside you. At first, you keep telling yourself  _don't look down, don't look down,_ but you find that only makes you want to look down. You look straight ahead and focus on how sweet this is instead.

And then you make the mistake of leaning forward, pitching your body weight down. It's not a freefall, but you're moving toward the ground at a pretty alarming rate. Again. You think you might throw up, but you also think you might know how to stop yourself.

You level your body and your line of sight, and you're still in the air again, just eight or nine feet above the ground. Kids are pointing at you and elbowing each other now. You wave down at them, and they wave back.

"Hey, lady!" one of them calls up, a little girl in a cowgirl hat and boots. "Are you magic?"

"I'm not sure yet!" you yell down to her.

"Are you a superhero?" asks a little boy in a ballerina costume, tutu and all.

"I hope so!" you say.

"Well happy Halloween!" the little boy yells.

"Eat some candy for me, alright?" you ask. These kids seem nice, and you like talking to them, but you've got some idea of how this works now, and there's something you feel like you have to do. So, testing your whims, you tilt your face up toward the sky and lean.

_Perfection._

Now _this_ is what you were made for, rocketing up toward that orange moon with the wind stinging your face and carrying your laugh to the world below. You imagine this is how birds feel, only birds probably aren't having this much fun. Your clothes aren't very aerodynamic, and they're snapping against your arms and legs and neck, but you don't care. The sensation of it hurts your head a little bit, but it's one hundred percent worth it, and you find you don't mind falling up. Just so long as you don't look down. You execute a loop-de-loop with your eyes firmly shut.

The thought of how far below you the ground must be now turns your stomach and makes you woozy, but you try to shake it off. It sort of works - more so because you realize you're about to be level with the roof of the Tower. Unable to help it, you glance down quickly, and a shiver runs through you. As soon as you get to solid ground, you're definitely going to throw up. You focus on the wind in your face, focus on the timing, not wanting to shoot past the roof of the Tower. Carefully, you slow yourself, correcting the way you're leaning, and firmly tell yourself to quit looking down.

_I'm afraid of heights. And I can fucking fly. Somebody call Alanis Morissette, because this is pretty ironic._

 

 

"Hey guys," comes a familiar voice from the edge of the roof. Actually, from over the edge of the roof. The Avengers all spin as fast as they can to look. It's you. It's you!

How is it you?

"You are not dead!" Thor booms joyfully.

"Nope! Little nauseous though," you reply.

Bruce is the first to laugh, but soon it spreads to everybody else. The Avengers are delighted. Because at this point - and this is the point where each of them admits it to themselves - they're pretty much in love with you. And they spent about five minutes convinced you were dead, and those five minutes were up there with some of the worst parts of their lives.

But you're very much alive. And not only that, you appear to be suspended in midair.

Which is confusing, to say the least.

"How are you doing that?" Steve asks, stepping closer to the edge to investigate. He peers over into the darkness below you, trying to see if there's anything holding you up.

"I wouldn't do that, Steve," you say. "Last time I checked, you can't fly. Although, last time I checked, I couldn't either."

The Avengers all watch, dumbfounded, as you land yourself on the roof of the Tower.

Clint is the first to regain his speaking abilities. He rubs his temples and grumbles, "Goddamn Fury. I really hate that guy."

 

 

"Wait a second," you say. You start to walk over to him, but almost fall over. The team all rushes to hold you up, keep you standing, and Thor gets there first. You thank him.

"Guess I haven't got my land legs yet. But wait just a goddamn second. This is why Fury sent me? To get pushed off a building? That's kind of a dick move."

"I don't know about the pushed-off-a-building part," Nat muses, "but knowing Fury, he knew you can fly. Also, you can fly. That's pretty neat."

"Just call me Generic Superpower Girl," you say, flexing your arms.

"Actually," Tony says, "from what I saw it looked more like levitation, or maybe manipulating the air around you. Do you glide? Maybe you glide, like a flying squirrel. I'm going for levitation, though. That looked like-"

You roll your eyes. "Aw, shut the hell up, Stark. I can fly. Which is super cool, by the way. It kinda feels like I'm meant to be in the air. But also... I'm sort of scared of heights."

The laughter of your friends rings out into the night, and for once, there's no wind at the top of the Tower. You laugh with them. "C'mere, guys," you say, and pull your friends into a long, long group hug.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," you say, "I'm gonna head downstairs. The party's still going on, and I could go for some more champagne right now."

You step into the elevator with a grin on your face.

_I can fly._

 

 

"She should join the team," Steve muses offhand.

"What happened to 'not putting [Y/N] in unnecessary danger?'" Clint retorts.

"I agree with Birdbrain," Tony says. "Not that I don't want her on the team, but that was some serious Deus Ex Machina. She can't always be that lucky. And if she actually dies, well..." He doesn't need to finish that sentence.

"You cannot expect us to keep the lady cooped up now that she has discovered her abilities," Thor says. "She deserves a spot on the team."

"I ain't saying she doesn't deserve it," Clint replies. "Just that it's better if she doesn't get it."

"We still don't know who pushed her, or why," Natasha points out. "Looks to me like she's in danger here, too."

"If we have her join the team, we can at least train her to defend herself," Steve reasons.

"We need Fury's permission before she joins," Tony objects. "And I don't want to ask him for anything."

"Have you ever cared about needing his permission for anything before now?" Thor demands.

Bruce sighs. "Or, you know, we could just ask her what she wants instead of deciding for her. There's been enough of that on this team already."

Everybody quiets, then slowly, the nods spread from one person to the next. The wind starts back up again. Nobody is satisfied with the outcome of their discussion, but at least you're not dead. They don't know what they would have done if you were dead.

They pile into the elevator and ride downstairs. Nobody else is going up to the roof tonight.

 

 

The man who pushed you does not know that you can fly. The man who pushed you does not know that, right now, the Avengers are asking you what you want. The man who pushed you does not know what he has started.

The man who pushed you smiles a crooked smile and tells his boss that everything is going according to plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syke! I had time to post a chapter today after all. Hope you're all enjoying the story, and please keep on commenting, especially with suggestions about the story! I love reading everything you have to say.


	10. Heartful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just like a storybook, getting whisked away to the danger and intrigue of the crime-fighting world. That is, if you let yourself be whisked. Still, there are people and forces out there that none of you have even dreamt of. But they certainly know about you...

It is dark, intentionally so. Cardboard has been stuck to the windows with masking tape in order to keep the light out. What little sunlight filters through the cracks around the cardboard is greenish and makes the basement look like it's underwater, though it's filtered through the leaves of the shrubs outside. Those shrubs were planted in front of these basement windows to block any outside views in, but more importantly, to block any inside views out.

If someone decided to get down on all fours and slice their way through the bushes and peer through the crack between cardboard and window frame, though, they would not see much. The basement of a large house. Dozens of file cabinets, papers stuck to the walls, and more bins of waterlogged file folders and paper spread over the concrete floor. A chair in the middle of the room. An observer probably wouldn't be able to tell, but it is exactly in the center, and it is bolted to the floor.

The man who pushed you is named Basil. 

Basil is complaining to nobody, picking his way through the mess of files littering the basement. After three steps, he gives up and steps on them. There is a paper stuck to the wall with the same masking tape they used on the windows. There is a black-and-white photo on the paper. The woman in the photo is looking straight into the camera on a plain background. The fact that she's trying to keep a straight face suggests a driver's license, or perhaps a passport, but she's not quite succeeding. Her eyes have crinkled at the corners, and her lips are turned ever so slightly upward. She knows a joke that all who view the photo do not know. Surrounding the photo, covering the rest of the page, is line upon line of very, very small text detailing the life of the person in the photograph. All of it in excruciating detail, up until a day ago. There is a box in the lower right corner of the paper, and in the box there is a neatly drawn X in blue ink. The life story of the woman in the photo stops right at the time the X is drawn.

The paper is stuck over hundreds of other papers. These hundreds of papers all have a box in the lower right corner. Every box has an X. The ink colors are all different: most are blue or black, but there are several reds, a few greens, one purple. A whole section of them are done in what appears to be magenta Sharpie.

X.

X.

X.

X.

Basil rams his shoulder against the paper-covered section of wall and it swings inward. This hallway is well-lit compared to the basement, though still a bit dim by normal standards. There are blue lights running the length of it, embedded into the shiny, slick floor.

"I already told you it's done!" Basil grumbles at the empty hallway. "What do you want?"

No answer comes. No answer ever comes until he reaches the room. But Basil keeps on grumbling, because he would not be Basil if he didn't.

He arrives at a rotunda, blue-footlit hallways leading off into other places, and makes a sharp right. He passes a woman with her hair pulled back in a bun so severe that it seems to be stretching the skin of her face back towards her scalp. She gives him their customary greeting, but he only nods.  _Her_ name is Frieda, and he used to want her. He used to love her, even, but she has moved up in the system, to the places he should have had, and now he resents her with a carefully cultivated iciness. She doesn't seem to care.

He scans himself in when he reaches the room. He knows a superior will be there waiting for him. Basil takes his job very seriously, but occasionally butts heads with those above him. Too many of them are not dedicated enough. Too many of them think they must still do things the old way. If their enemies are not doing things the old way, Basil refuses to see why they should either. He thinks perhaps it will be the woman. They often send the woman to deal with him. Or perhaps it will be King, who says that is his name (it is not). Basil does not mind King. Either way, he did what he was told to do. Whatever may come, they cannot say he failed.

The door opens.

The man is there waiting for him. Basil did not expect the man. 

"You failed," says the man in his harsh accent.

He bows his head deferentially. "I am sorry sir. I'm afraid I do not understand how this is possible."

The man turns around, and Basil does not look up. He does not want to see the man's face. The man enunciates his every word. "The realm of what is possible is of no use to us. You failed. She lives."

"But-"

The man snaps his fingers. Basil does not see what hit him, but he is on the floor and every inch of his exposed skin is stinging and red. He restrains himself from crying out. He knows better.

"I am sorry, sir," he says, gasping for air, lungs pressed up against what are definitely bruised ribs. "I will fix it. She will die. I will do better this time."

The man softens his voice. "You do not need to trouble yourself about that."

"Sir?"

"You do not need to trouble yourself about anything." The man snaps his fingers again, and red clouds are filling Basil's vision and his head is fuzzy and now something is kicking at him from all sides and the air is being sucked from his lungs faster than he can take it in. He knows it is coming. He knows what his last words are supposed to be.

Basil chokes out a "Hail H-" before he is dead.

The man's expression does not change. He touches his earpiece. "Have them transferred elsewhere," he says. "I thank you for letting me test them, but I have no more use of the twins."

 

 

You are in another basement in another place, hitting a punching bag for all you're worth.

The Avengers asked you, this morning, if you wanted to be a part of the team. Your impulse was to yell out a "yes!" before they could even finish speaking, or possibly squeal, but you didn't. You very calmly said you'd have to think about it, and they all exchanged looks with each other. You're learning to decipher their communication lately, but you weren't quite sure what that one meant. You still aren't.

You aren't sure of a lot of things right now.

On a particularly solid punch, the bag puffs out a cloud of dust, sending you into a coughing fit. You stop, clutching your stomach and coughing until your throat is sore.

"I'd react about the same," Loki says, directly behind you. He wasn't there a second ago. At this point, though, you're not even startled. He likes to make dramatic entrances.

"Not in the mood, Loki," you say.

"I heard that the team popped the question," he tells you, completely ignoring what you just said. "What do you think you're going to call yourself? Mosquito, maybe?"

"I haven't decided yet," you snap.

"Well I can think of all sorts of insect names," he replies.

"No! I mean I haven't decided. About... the whole team thing."

Loki walks slowly around you. His gaze is on your face, but you're not sure whether he's looking at you or through you. You stay perfectly still, feeling like something under a microscope. An insect, maybe. Hah.

"You really haven't, have you?" he says, sounding almost... in awe. Of you. Weird.

"Well I wasn't just lying to you for no reason," you grumble. To tell the truth, you don't even mind Loki. You're just being short with him today because you're having a difficult enough time with this as it is, and you just came down here to punch things without being psychoanalyzed.

"I seem to forget not everybody does that," he says, following it up with a rueful little chuckle. It's probably calculated, you know, but it does make you soften a little bit.

"Why are you here?" you ask him, but it's not as sharp as you were before, because you really do want to know. 

Loki shrugs. "Company. Why are you here?"

You mimic his shrug. "Punching bag."

 

 

Loki is, to be frank, extremely surprised that you didn't accept the offer. A girl learns she can fly and is asked to join the most prestigious team of people like her, anywhere, ever, and she's whisked away to the magical world of crime-fighting. Like a perfect little fairy tale.

But you are not the complicit girl in the red cloak. He looked at your inner struggle. Loki decides he likes you best when you're conflicted.

This, however, does not mean much. Just yesterday he decided he liked you best when you're tipsy on champagne and happiness and you get a bit touchier than usual. Last week he decided he liked you best when you're feeling competitive, a gleam in your eye and a squared-off slant to your shoulders. To tell the truth, Loki just likes you best. As far as he's concerned, it's because nothing about you was part of The Plan. However, like the Avengers, he's beginning to question himself. They all have their One Reason they think you're wonderful. Of course, those reasons are all completely inaccurate, and they're finally starting to catch on. 

Loki smiles at you and your fairy tale. There are an awful lot of princes and princesses upstairs. He leans against the wall. "They like you, you know," he says with a vicious grin that doesn't really match his inner thoughts right now.

You nod. "I know. That's why I'm still getting paid to be their friend."

Loki leans in towards you. "That," he says, "is not what I meant."

"I know that, too," you reply. "But I don't know what you did mean, and I'm confused enough already without your help."

The wickedness is gone from his grin. He couldn't keep that up for long. He leans back against the wall. "So be it," he says. "I am sorry."

"No you're not."

"I am! I am. A bit." He holds both hands up in a gesture of surrender. You laugh.

He decides he likes you best when you're laughing. 

 

 

You tell Loki to stand back and time you for a two-minute round. Once he says go, you return to whaling on the punching bag, letting the rhythm and the exhaustion in your muscles carry away your thoughts. You just hit.

"Stop!" Loki yells. You give the bag one final whack and step back, bending over, all out of breath.

"I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that," Loki says with a little smile.

"Don't worry, you wouldn't be," you assure him. "I like you too much for that."

"Really?" He sounds mildly surprised.

"Of course," you say.

"You know," he says, "I'm not on the team either."

You nod, considering this. It's the sort of thing he would say, the sort of thing that means more than its face value. You two are quiet for awhile. You get some water and do a few more rounds. Your head is no clearer than it was when you came down here two hours ago, and now your knuckles are scraped and bruised. Still, something about this feels worthwhile.

"I'm going upstairs," you say. "Coming?"

"No," Loki says simply. "And, [Y/N]."

He does not use your name often. You know whatever's coming will be interesting, to say the least.

He places a single finger against your shirt, over your heart. "We all have one of these," he says. "Do what yours wants you to do."

You look at him and he looks at you for one long, long moment. There is no room around you, there is no muddle in your head. He is looking both at you and through you, now, but you do not look away. You look at him and through him and hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

"You just poked me in the boob," you say.

Loki pulls his hand back. "So I did," he says.

He snickers, and you burst out into laughter that you can't seem to get under control. As soon as you think you've finally managed to stop giggling, Loki will grin or move a finger in your general direction, or else you'll poke him in the chest, and it sets you both off again. He's better at controlling his, but still, you can tell it's the hardest he's laughed in a long time. At some point you figure you've got to leave or else you'll never stop laughing, so you walk toward the elevator still laughing in fits and starts.

"Later, Loki," you manage with nothing but a hiccup, finally starting to calm down.

He raises his hand in a wave. The doors close.

You hiccup again.  _Dammit,_ you think.  _I hate the hiccups worse than a poke in the boob._

You start laughing again.

Tonight, dinner is eaten in the largest of the TV/video game/entertainment rooms. A very intense Mario Kart tournament is under way, and it's down to you and Bruce, with his goddamn ever-changing courses. You still aren't sure how he does it.

Everybody is having pizza and sandwiches brought in from a tiny Italian place and hooting and hollering, egging both of you on. You're the underdog in this round, but you've also got the biggest cheering section. You and Bruce are neck and neck when you unleash the powerup you've been sitting on all game.

Blue shell.

Bruce groans in defeat, and you hop off the couch to do a little victory dance. There's a round of applause, and Tony hands you another slice of pizza.

"So, do I get a prize?" you ask. Loki, sinking into a beanbag chair that is way too big for him, smirks.

"I could think of a few good ones," he says.

"Fuck off, Loki," Clint says.

"Yes, please do, brother," Thor agrees. Loki rolls his eyes.

"So hey, [Y/N], have you given any more thought to joining the team?" Steve asks.

The room gets quieter all of a sudden. Much quieter. The Mario Kart theme music trills in the background.

In fact, you have given more thought to joining the team. A lot more. The danger, the thrills, the chance to save the world from all manner of horrible things. To be recognized the world over as somebody wonderful, a role model for kids like the ones you met on Halloween. The opportunity to bond over more common ground with your friends, and get to know them in an environment outside of the cushioned reality of the Tower. Most of all, you would be like them. You'd be on their level. You would prove, once and for all, that you really are good enough for them. You worry that you're not. Every day, you worry that this is a joke, or that it will all be taken away from you, all of a sudden, because you simply aren't good enough for these... these heroes. If you join the team, you won't worry about that any more.

_They like you, you know._

_I know. That's why I'm still getting paid to be their friend._

"What are your thoughts on the matter?" Thor asks.

"Are you signing on?" Nat prompts.

"Joining Earth's mightiest heroes?" Tony adds.

You take a deep breath and decide, right in that instant. You say only one word.

 

 

"No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my first constructive criticism! Thanks again, Grace, for your comments. I almost told you what I was planning, vis-a-vis the reader joining the Avengers, but I didn't want to spoil it.  
> Thanks for letting your voices be heard, guys, and please keep commenting! I can't believe so many people love this story, and hearing from you makes my day.


	11. (Author's Note)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a part of the actual story! Just info.

Alright, folks. I'm going back to school very shortly. As in, put-together-my-binders, bought-new-earbuds, hoarding-pencils shortly. On top of that, the fair's coming to town, and I'm volunteering with either the karate school or the student council every single day of it.

 _But Colonel,_ I hear you thinking,  _why does that matter to me?_

Well, if you're a dedicated reader of this story, you know I upload a chapter every single day. Unfortunately, that's about to change. My writing and upload schedule is about to get highly irregular. My goal's going to be two chapters per week, probably concentrated on the weekends. However, I'll definitely be writing/uploading whenever I get the chance!

Thanks for sticking me so far, everybody, and good luck to those of you who are starting school again, too! 


	12. The Martyr and the Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony acted on impulse, and now he's got a secret to keep. But as for me, I'm wondering what Loki will do about all the things he heard the Avengers say...

For the past three days, the Avengers have done nothing but ask questions and argue back and forth. Sometimes they catch you in the crossfire of these arguments, but they try only to fight when you're not around. They know your mind can't be changed.

Some of them have tried.

They're all crammed into the elevator together, which is making this particular discussion even more uncomfortable. Even though it's a very spacious elevator, they're still all leaning against their separate walls and looking at everybody else, and they're far closer together than they'd like to be in their present state of disagreement. The elevator makes stops at several floors, but the Avengers never get off, or even stop talking. Just about all the employees and visitors to the Tower just head for another elevator when they see the Avengers arguing. Best not to piss off the team of superheroes any more than necessary right now.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Steve asks tiredly. "She's not on the team. Congratulations."

"I know, I know," Tony says, "but I want to know  _why._ "

Everybody sighs. They've been through this. Many times.

"Can we  _please_ move on?" Bruce asks in exasperation. "She can make her own choices. We don't have to analyze them."

"Agreed," Thor says. "Though I do not feel it was the best choice."

The elevator slides to a stop, and a harried-looking blond man in a sweater vest gets on without looking up. He doesn't seem to realize who else is in the elevator until the doors have closed behind him. He fiddles with his bow tie and presses himself into a corner and stares intently at his shoes.

The team regards him briefly before returning to their previous conversation.

"She's safer this way," Nat says. "Can we all agree on that, at least?"

"No!" Steve protests. "Now she's got an ability that people will find out about and no training in how to use it. What if that guy comes back and does something a little more final than pushing her off a roof?"

"I dunno, pushing most people off a roof is pretty final," Clint observes.

"Not [Y/N]," Tony says. "I don't know which way she's safer. Is that why she didn't want to join? Is it one of us? I bet it's one of us. Do you think-"

"Tony, for god's sake, shut  _up_!" comes the chorus. 

"Look, I can't just  _not_ worry about this! I love her, okay?" 

"And you think we don't?" Bruce demands. He then glances around at the rest of the team, nervous that he spoke too soon. "Right, guys? All on the same page about this one? Yes? Okay." They really do all agree, too. Steve, Thor, Clint, even  _Natasha_ is nodding, reassuring Bruce and Tony that no, they're not the only ones. They love you too. Every one of them.

The elevator stops again, and the man in the sweater vest rushes out, still looking at his shoes like they're the most interesting things in the world. The Avengers pay him no mind as he scrambles away, still barely missing the doors as they close.

His whole self shimmers and warps. Loki smiles, shakes the last of the blond from his hair, and walks away.

 

 

You can't move.

This is because you are stuck beneath a pile of eight dogs. Most of them are asleep, but Jon Snow is both awake and licking your face. You're trying not to squirm too much, for fear of waking the rest up, but you're having a rough time of it. Jon Snow is awfully slobbery.

Somebody you can't see (mostly due to the dogs obscuring your vision) whistles, and even the sleeping dogs perk up their ears. Most of them stir, waking up. The unseen person whistles again, and seven of the eight dogs use you as a springboard and go bounding off toward the sound. Only Dmitri (who is sort of deaf) remains on your stomach, snoring peacefully. You sit up, slowly, shifting Dmitri around until you're comfortable. That dog can sleep through anything.

"No need to thank me," Tony says with a grin, passing out treats to seven eager dogs, all jostling for space.

You laugh. "Okay, I won't. Here, toss me a biscuit. I taught Hestia how to shake hands."

Tony chucks a biscuit at your face. You barely catch it in time. "Hestia!" you cry. "C'mere, girl." She half runs, half leaps over to you. You instruct her to sit, and then shake, which she does flawlessly. Hestia downs the treat in a single bite.

"Very impressive," Tony says. "What about the rest of them?"

"Not yet," you reply. "They can all sit and stay, but that's about it. Oh, but Dmitri knows some sign language! I mean, he has to. He can't hear a damn thing I say. But you know. Still impressive, in my book."

Tony finishes distributing the treats. The dogs all look expectantly at him for a few seconds, but he turns his empty hands palm-up and they give up, walking off to do other things. Tony takes the opportunity to sit down next do you. He scratches Dmitri behind the ears, and Dmitri makes cute little snuffling noises. 

"So," Tony says. "Can you  _please_ tell me why you're not joining the team?"

You roll your eyes. "Really, this again?"

"Pretty please?"

"Tony Stark, I swear, you understand everything except people."

"Well you've never given me a clear answer!"

You sigh. He looks a little worried. You've grown to know that, despite the outside, he can be anxious and obsessive. He once confided in you that he gets panic attacks, but you've never seen one firsthand. You give him a clear answer. Because he needs one.

"Saving the world just isn't my thing," you say. "Maybe that's selfish of me, I'm not sure, but I don't really want the whole world looking at me all the time. I don't want my successes and failures to mean so much to so many people. I'd rather build robots and train dogs and not tell the whole world I can fly."

Tony stares at you, and for a moment you're not sure if he understands. But he breaks out into a smile and shakes his head. "You're a better person than I am," he says.

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh."

You shove him gently in the shoulder. He shoves you back. Dmitri wakes up, apparently startled by the movement, jumps off of your stomach, and scampers away.

"I'm glad you're not on the team," Tony says.

"Thanks?"

"It's a good thing. Trust me, it ain't all it's cracked up to be. Plus we could never live with ourselves if you died in combat." He says this so nonchalantly that you take a second to process it. But when that sentence finally gets spit from all the gears and levers into your comprehension, you're a little bit surprised.

"Aren't casualties, like, part of the job?" you ask.

"Yep," he says matter-of-factly. "They suck. A lot. But not you-casualties. You-casualties are very not part of the job."

"Me-casualties," you repeat. "I'm making that the title of my memoir."

"So long as there are no you-casualties in that memoir," Tony says with a trademark suave grin.

You poke him in the stomach. "What about you-casualties, mister?"

He shrugs. "Me-casualties happen a lot. You should hear the stories I've got about this thing." He taps the glowing blue circle, showing through his shirt, and it makes a dull metal thunk when he does.

 

 

Tony knows he is oh-so-good at being blasé. But you don't appear to be fooled one bit.

Now that's a new one.

"Mr. Self-Destructive," you say. "No more you-casualties, alright? No more anybody-casualties! But definitely no you-casualties."

"See, this is why Capsicle thinks you should join the team."

You roll your eyes at him again. You've been doing a lot of that lately. Tony's not sure whether that's good or if he should take it as a warning sign. He figures he'll just roll with it. Pun one hundred percent intended.

"I'm not joining the team. And seriously, no you-casualties?"

"Not even one?"

"Nope," you reply firmly.

"What if the fate of the world hangs in the balance?"

"You can't save the whole world, Tony Stark."

"I can try."

"Not if you don't save yourself first," you say.

"Funny," he says, smirking, "usually people are telling me to focus  _less_ on myself."

"Well you've probably never told them you want to save the whole world."

"Doesn't everybody? Don't you?" Tony asks.

"Yeah. And I'm starting with you."

Tony looks at you. He's been joking this whole time, or at least trying to sound like he's been joking. But your voice is as serious as he's ever heard it before. You're sitting cross-legged and leaning forward, just slightly, just enough to make him feel like whatever he has to say is so, so important. Your eyes are wide and there's hair in your face, sticking to your cheek, but you don't seem to notice it. It reminds him a little bit of the girl he met on your very first day at the Tower. It reminds him that how he feels about you has hardly changed since then - it's just gotten deeper, is all. Put down roots and sent out leaves.

_Fuck it,_ Tony thinks.

He kisses you.

And he's pleasantly surprised when you kiss him back.

Now, let's preface this by saying that Tony Stark has kissed a lot of people. Like, a  _lot._ One might even say an excessive amount of people. Tony Stark has kissed so many people that you could fill an entire auditorium with them and have the world's most awkward audience when they find out just what it is they've all got in common.

This is Tony Stark's favorite kiss. Ever. Which, he supposes, makes sense. After all, he's kissed a large auditorium's worth of people, standing room only. He's really, truly loved one of them.

You place one hand over the reactor in his chest, and Tony shivers. He manages an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, he just wants you to be closer to him. For a second, he  _believes_ what you said,  _this girl is going to save me._

 

 

 

_I was not expecting that,_ you think.  _What should I do? He's my friend. But I like him. I love him. I love all of them, I like all of them._

You leave yourself on autopilot while your mind works through the issue at hand.

_I'm okay with this,_ you decide.  _Just not right now._

Gently, you disconnect yourself from Tony. He opens his eyes and squints, just a little bit, like someone who just opened the curtains into a sunny, sunny day. He's smiling, but you imagine you must look decidedly more somber, because the smile slides off his face and worry lines appear across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes.

"Did I-" he starts to ask, but you shake your head.

"No, that was lovely," you assure him. Slowly, his grin begins to return.

"So can we-"

You shake your head again. "I'm not sure. I'm... I just don't know."

You swear you can see his whole body shrink, as though he's physically deflated. You hate seeing him like his. You hate seeing anybody like this. You don't want to hurt your friends, for any reason, ever. But until you figure this out, whatever "this" is, kissing Tony Stark on the regular probably isn't an option. 

_I'm still going to save him,_ you vow.  _One way or another. I want them all to be happy. I'm going to save them all._

"Hey," you say, softly. "You've got that reputation for a reason, you know."

And as you stand up and walk out of the room, you can hear him laughing quietly behind you. You wonder if he's going to tell the others about this. You don't think you want the others to know about this. Not now. Not today. You look back over your shoulder and press one finger to your lips in the sign for "quiet."

You leave the room. It's getting on dinnertime, and ever since JARVIS helped you figure out how to use the stove, you've been dying to cook them a non-takeout meal. Tonight seems to be the night.

 

 

Tony is utterly confused. What do you mean? What don't you know? Did he do something wrong? But no, you said it was lovely. And what was the "shh" sign for? Did you want him to stop laughing? Do you want him not to tell anybody about this? Do you think he talks too much? You're being awfully vague.

_Mr. Self-Destructive,_ he hears you saying in his mind, and  _Tony Stark, I swear, you understand everything except people._

_No more you-casualties._

Tony groans out a string of curses and lies back on the floor. At this point, he's not sure whether you're really going to save him or whether you're gonna be the death of him. At this point, too, he's not sure he'd really mind either option.

He's still lying on the floor half an hour later when Natasha finds him to tell him dinner's ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I got a chapter up! And only a day off-schedule (though I'm not sure I can call it a schedule from this point forward). Please, if you have a comment, don't be afraid to speak up! My favorite part of writing this series is hearing what other people have to say about my stuff.
> 
> Also, I'm polling - I'm definitely gonna write multiple endings and introduce new characters (Bucky Barnes is coming soon!), but if this story could only end with one love interest, who would you want it to be? Bonus points for an explanation. ;)


	13. Да, но

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And yet another person is on the scene. But how exactly do the Avengers plan on settling this?

You hear scuffling noises and turn away from the stove to see most of the Avengers, Loki included, pushing, shoving, and joking their way into the kitchen. Natasha and Tony are the notable exceptions, but you figure they'll show up soon enough.

"We smelled food," Bruce explains, "but nobody called for takeout."

"Figured it had to be a miracle," Clint adds with a smile.

"Well boys, here's your miracle," you say, displaying the wooden spoon in your hand to all of them. "JARVIS taught me how to use this damn kitchen. Hope you people like risotto."

Clint gives you a high-five as he walks by you, and the others all decide that's a brilliant idea and do the same. You receive a total of five high-fives. Then your friends start pulling bowls and glasses and silverware from various and sundry cabinets. 

Just as you're serving dinner, Natasha half-leads, half-drags Tony into the kitchen. He perks up a bit when he smells the food, but still looks sort of like he was hit by a train, feelings-wise. You feel guilty, and like you probably could have handled that a lot better. But your guilt immediately turns to panic when Bruce asks him, "What happened to you?"

Your whole body stiffens, and you wait for Tony to ruin your chances for figuring this whole thing out.

"Reading Game of Thrones," Tony lies flawlessly. "They just killed-"

Thor, Nat and Steve all physically put their hands over their ears. Clint shushes him. Bruce smiles knowingly and says, "Oh, you're at  _that_ part, huh?"

"No spoilers at the table," you remind Tony, wagging your spoon at him.

"No, please," Loki cuts in. "Who died? I'd love to know."

"You heard the lady," Nat chides. "Spoilers wait until after we're eating."

"Don't want to  _spoil_ your appetites," Tony says. Groans all around.

You think you're in the clear and relax again, dishing out the last of the risotto onto mismatched plates. But as Nat comes to retrieve hers, she whispers a barely-detectable "tell me what happened" in your ear before strolling off again, dinner in hand.

_Dammit,_ you think.  _So close._

 

 

Loki, as per usual for him, is thinking. His inner monologue is more like an inner dialogue at this point.

_I can't wait until she hears all the things they've been saying behind her back,_ he thinks. All the things he heard in that elevator were absolutely priceless.  _Oh, the drama. Like my own personal soap opera._

_Yes, but,_ comes the rebuttal. The rebuttal always starts with yes-but. Loki is full of yes-but.  _Yes, but, that opens six possibilities to her. What if she welcomes the opportunity? If I don't tell her..._

_No, no, no. I'm telling her. It's going to be hilarious._

_Fool, if I don't tell her, I'll still have a chance!_

_I don't have a chance anyway._

_Yes, but what if I do?_

"Hey, Loki," you say, snapping your fingers once. "You still alive? You looked sorta lost just now."

_I'm not telling her._

_Fine._

"Just thinking," he says.

"Glad someone around here is," you reply, smiling.

He smiles back.

_Good call,_ he thinks.

 

 

After dinner, Nat catches you on your way out of the kitchen, making sure nobody's in earshot. "He wasn't reading Game of Thrones," she says simply.

You sigh and stop walking. "I have to explain?"

"Well, no," she says, in a way that sounds like it means yes. You laugh ruefully and rub the back of your neck. "It was mostly my fault," you say. "I could have handled it better, but-"

Nat winces. "That bad, hm?"

"Huh? I didn't even-"

Natasha smiles, an enigmatic smile that you are utterly helpless to decipher. "He kissed you, right? You freaked out a little?"

Stunned, you nod. "Dude, I knew you were good, but I didn't know you were  _this_ good."

"Shocking, I know," she replies drily. "He'll get over it. You don't need to feel guilty. Knowing you, you're going to anyway, but he'll be fine. Trust me."

"I trust you," you reply. "I'm still sort of freaking out about you figuring all that shit out from half a sentence."

She shrugs. "Still don't know why you did it. You could tell me that."

"You'll just figure it out."

"Let's test that theory."

You smile. You swear you're gonna have to write a series of memoirs about living with the Avengers someday. I mean, there's You-Casualties, of course, and Natasha Romanoff: Just What You Needed seems to be back with a vengeance. There's seriously nothing like talking to her to make you feel better about your whole situation, though she seems like an odd candidate for that particular role.

"I'm indecisive, I guess," you say. "This is gonna sound... really, really weird."

"I'm listening," Natasha says, with a smile that's straddling the unlikely line between sympathetic and teasing.

"I didn't want to let things go to far because I've got a lot of feelings for all of you guys - I mean all of you guys, every single one of you - and I still have no idea what I'm doing and it's all just really confusing. Okay?" You sigh out a deep breath, slowly letting it through pursed lips in a steady whistle of air.

Natasha just looks at you for a few moments, hands on hips. You shift in place. "Well," you say, "I'm gonna go up to the roof. Uh... call me if you need anything."

You have to restrain yourself from sprinting away, feeling a blush on your cheeks. You manage a fast-walk. Practicing the whole flight thing right now is gonna be good for you, you're sure. Anything to get your mind off this evening.

 

 

 

Nat nods absently as you leave. Her mind is working at approximately a hundred miles a minute. For all she's seen and heard, and for all her training, Natasha wasn't really expecting that.

So now she's faced with a choice.

She's got no idea, but she's undergoing precisely the same battle that Loki was just minutes earlier - albeit in reverse.

_I shouldn't tell them what she said._

_She didn't say not to._

_She didn't say to, either._

_They'd love to know._

_Yes, but-_

_Yes, but-_

_Yes, but-_

Natasha's inner dialogue does not have to say as much to convey the same message. She may not understand herself quite as well as she understands others, but she does come awfully close most times. After many, many rounds of back and forth (yes-but, yes-but, yes-but), Natasha ultimately comes to the opposite conclusion that Loki had.

Because Natasha Romanoff has always trafficked, first and foremost, in information. And you just gave her a story the rest of the team would kill to hear.

 

 

You are a bullet going straight up.

You've spent a good deal of time attempting to master the intricacies of this weird, weird ability over the past few days, and you've got the whole leaning mechanism down to a T. Which means you've also figured out what happens when you pin your arms to your sides and strain straight up.

_Speed._

You're positive that, soon, the air is going to get too thin for you to breathe and you'll have to turn around. You hate that part, the turning around, because it means looking down. A few days ago you actually did throw up, which was extraordinarily embarrassing, and would have been way, way worse if anybody had seen. Thankfully, though, no one was around for that particular moment in your life.

For now, though, there's no looking down. Just outstripping birds, and clouds, and some guy's drone with a camera attached to it. You make sure to stay clear of the camera - that would be hard to explain. You take a moment to imagine the attention that would draw. Or maybe someone would accuse the drone's owner (drowner?) of faking the whole thing, and you'd become a famous hoax.

Somewhere in the fog of your thoughts, you register how hard your lungs are working to take in air and how cold that air is. You look around. Everything is clear and dark, dark blue. You don't see any birds, or clouds, or drones. Nothing but stars.

_Ugh, fine,_ you grumble mentally.  _Nature, you win again._

Now comes the tough part. You know looking down is probably just going to make you panic and start breathing at an unsustainable rate, considering how thin the air is up here. So you shut your eyes, tight, and lean oh-so-slightly downward. This is a technique you haven't quite mastered yet, but it's better than watching the ground rushing up at you. You've had enough of that for a lifetime.

You drift gently downwards, and for awhile, every breath you take is hard, cold, unforgiving work. You've definitely gone too high this time. The thought of it makes you feel queasy, so you focus on other things. Namely,  _fuck I just told Natasha Romanoff that I have a crush on two gods, two genius scientists, a genetically perfect superhero, and a really hot archer - not to mention her. That was probably a bad idea. Especially because we all live in the same building. And I have to see them everyday. Yep, brilliant call, [Y/N]._

This train of thought makes you a different kind of queasy, but it's better than worrying about your current altitude, so you pursue it.  _Yes, so I probably just ruined my whole life, but what if I didn't?_

You have a yes-but too, and yours is particularly imaginative.

_My life isn't necessarily ruined,_ you reason.  _One of them could like me, too. Heck, more than one of them! I mean, the thing with Tony probably didn't mean anything, considering he's, well, Tony, but that doesn't mean none of my friends feel like that about me._

_Yeah, right, because my life is a poorly-written fanfiction now,_ says the reasonable part of you.

_Well,_ says yes-but,  _I did just learn I can fly._

You feel your feet brush concrete. The roof. You wobble toward the elevator on unsteady legs. Flying really does not prepare you for walking once you've landed.

You sit in the elevator and press the button for All The Way Down, bypassing all of the Avengers' floors. You think you'll take a walk, or maybe screw around with some tech. You need a bit of alone time right now.

Except, waiting outside the doors and buzzing at the intercom, is Somebody. The capital letter is necessary because he just  _looks_ like the kind of person who deserves one. He's got a hoodie that's too long in the arms, so it even comes down over his fingertips, and nondescript pants and old boots and dog tags. His hair is tied back, oddly yet adorably, in a bright pink hair tie that is very obviously not his.

He's Somebody, and he nags at the edge of your memory in a way you can't quite place.

"Hi," you say, quietly, half-hoping he won't actually hear or notice you. 

"Hello," he replies.

"Can I help you?" you ask, inwardly rolling your eyes at what a scintillating conversationalist you're being right now.

"I'm here for Steve," he says plainly. This confuses you for a moment - here for him, like, to see him? Here for him, like, to assassinate him? Here for him, like, to support him through all of life's trials? But then it clicks - the man Steve's been quietly anticipating for weeks. You caught Steve X-ing off the days on a countdown calendar. You don't know much about him, but you know him, and so you gasp.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I know who you are. Wait, that's extraordinarily creepy of me. But yes, Steve's really excited to see you again, and any friend of the Avengers is a friend of mine. I'm [Y/N]," you say, all in one big rush of air, as you stick out your hand for a handshake. He takes it.

He introduces himself, and you smile and usher Steve's friend inside.

_So much for alone time,_ you think, but you find you don't really care anymore. 

 

"You're messing with us. She's messing with us," Bruce declares to the group. This was the first time they have ever used the phrase "Avengers, assemble" for something that didn't threaten to tear the world apart.

At the moment, though, it's threatening to tear the Avengers apart.

"Seriously, Nat, if this is some weird, fucked-up joke..." Clint says. He's so inclined to believe Natasha, she's his best friend on the team, they've shared so much. But it really does seem to good to be true.

"It's not," Nat says through a sigh. Normally people don't take this much convincing. "If you'd like me to go get her-"

"No!" says the gang, because this is a  _crisis._

Nat smiles. "Then I'm not sure I understand what the problem is."

"You know what the problem is," Steve says. "Though I definitely do believe you."

"Thank you."

"I just... what are we going to do?" Steve continues. "She did say everybody, right? All of us."

"I mean all of you guys, every single one of you," Natasha quotes tiredly. She's starting to think this wasn't a very smart idea, but if they can come to some sort of conclusion, then it will have been worth the endless back-and-forth.

Probably.

"How about," Tony says, putting on a mock-thinking face, "whichever one of us has kissed her gets the girl? Oh wait. Just me. Darn."

"This is not a joke," Thor warns.

"I know," Tony says. "It's still pretty funny though."

"Well we ought to come to a consensus about what to do," Thor returns.

"I, for one, know precisely what I'll be doing," Loki says, standing up abruptly. The whole team goes into panic mode, and he sits back down with a grin. A lying grin, a hiding grin. Most everybody's had one at one point or another this evening. Because this news is screwing with their heads and there is absolutely nothing they can do about it. If they didn't know better, they'd think Loki was manipulating them. But no, he's here, going through exactly the same shit everybody else is.

"What about a best-man-wins thing?" Clint asks.

"Stupid."

"Cliche."

"Does [Y/N] not get a say in this at all?"

"Her say," Tony points out, "was that she has feelings for all of us. It's our move."

There's a buzz from the intercom. Steve puts his head in his hands.

"I forgot for a second there," he moans. "I can't believe I let myself forget."

"What?"

"I've been counting down the days," Steve says. "I can't believe none of you remember. My friend? He was rehabbing at S.H.I.E.L.D. for over a year now. He's still not totally recovered, but he's doing a lot better. I knew him -  _know_ him - better than anybody. They're having me help. Seriously, none of this is ringing a bell?"

"Kind of having a crisis here," Clint points out.

"Well," Steve says, "the crisis can wait. I want you all to meet my best friend. Somebody buzz him in."

Before any of them can so much as reach for the button on the intercom, there's a ding from the elevator. It opens to reveal you, leading a man by his metal fingers.

"Steve," you say, "you've got a visitor."

"Meet James Buchanan Barnes," Steve says with a flourish of his hand, overjoyed to see his friend - but also worried, for reasons he can't place yet.

The man in the elevator corrects his friend. "It's Bucky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the nice words! I can't believe this is someone's favorite reader insert...   
> But please, keep telling me your thoughts! I love to hear them.


	14. Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With all of the sudden drama surrounding you (and more specifically, your love life), the team seems to have gotten distracted from what's really at stake...

Your friends all look startled, and markedly more out of it than usual, but introductions are exchanged all around. Bucky tugs his sleeve back down over his metal arm before shaking hands with everybody. It occurs to you that he's probably self-conscious about it, and you're immediately hit across the face by guilt for not realizing that sooner. You had led him up here, hand in metal hand, without a second thought.

_I am not good at first impressions,_ you think.

But by that time all the hands have been shaken and all the names have been shared. Steve and Bucky are chattering animatedly while everybody else stands around and exchanges uncomfortable glances. You wonder for the second time just what it was that they were talking about. You wonder if Nat told them what you said earlier. You don't know how you feel about that.

More shifting. People are starting to move toward the door. Steve and Bucky have a lot of catching up to do, and it's clear to you that nobody wants to intrude on that. You check your watch and realize it's after 10 at night. Yikes.

"I'm off to bed," you announce to the room. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Bucky. Night, everybody!"

A volley of "sleep tight"s and "sweet dreams"s and "good night"s are returned to you as you slip out the doorway. You don't hear anybody following you out, which puzzles you. You just gave everybody the perfect opportunity to leave non-awkwardly and let Steve and Bucky reminisce about the 40s. You're puzzled by a lot of things this evening, as a matter of fact. You're puzzled as you walk down the hallway, exhausted, thanking whatever deities there are that your room is on this floor. You're puzzled as you brush your teeth and get into your pajamas. You're puzzled right up until you fall asleep.

That's when the nightmares start.

 

 

You leave, and three people open their mouths to speak at precisely the same time. Steve manages to sense it all coming and puts his conversation with Bucky on pause.

"Not right now. Please. Can we talk about this tomorrow?" he asks wearily.

"Please, let's," Natasha agrees, yawning and stretching her arms over her head, catlike.

"We actually don't have to revisit this at all," Clint says with a halfhearted smile, hiding that he's exhausted, too. "I could just-"

"No," Bruce cuts him off flatly.

"That would be me," Loki returns.

"No," Thor says, mimicking Bruce's tone.

"Good, thanks," Steve says.

"Hang on," Bucky says with a grin that's got mischief in it, his first big smile since walking through the door. "What are we not talking about?"

"Buckyyyy," Steve whines, but it's too late, the floodgate - the one that looks an awful lot like Tony Stark - has been opened.

"Alright, so that girl who let you in? That's [Y/N]. She's pretty great. She used to be the assistant, but we didn't actually need an assistant-"

"And she was awful at it," Bruce cuts in.

"Right, that too. So we changed her contract and now she's just our friend. If you see eight dogs running around, those are hers. Well, ours, but she bought them because it was a kill shelter and they were the last eight there. Also, turns out, she can fly. Long story there. Which reminds me, we ought to be looking for the guy who pushed her off the roof. Ehh, later.  _Anyway,_ the point is that we all ended up here, madly in love with her or what have you, and this evening we found out through... sources..."

"I'm the sources," Nat says wryly, raising her hand.

"We found out through  _sources_ ," Tony continues exasperatedly, "that she's got feelings for us. All of us. So we were in crisis mode. And then you showed up!"

"And that's what you missed on Glee," Clint adds.

Bucky, slightly overwhelmed by the tide of information that was just tossed in his direction, blinks a few times, as if to make sure the room is still there. Then, he turns to Steve, who only nods solemnly. 

"You've been having fun without me, huh, Stevie?" he says with a broad grin.

Steve shrugs. "Trust me, this one ain't fun. You try it."

"For everybody's sake," Thor says quickly, "Perhaps it would be best if you did not try it."

There's a round of laughter. Bucky nods. "No promises," he says, "but I'll do what I can. In the meantime, I'd like to meet these dogs."

"You haven't changed, have you?" Steve asks, elbowing his friend.

"Nope."

"So," Nat says. "Let's go to bed. We'll talk about this tomorrow. After all, [Y/N] will still be there in the morning."

About half a second after Natasha finishes this innocuous statement, the whole gathering hears you scream.

 

 

You're sitting up in bed, and you're freezing. Your blankets are wrapped half a dozen times around your ankles and you cannot move your legs. You feel yourself breathing fast, too fast, and your throat is raw. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you think you might have just shrieked.

Even though you know at some level you're safe in your bedroom (thanks to a few vintage-ish posters bought last week and the constant flow of dogs, it's finally starting to feel like your own), the nightmare is still very much with you.

_Hands against your back, catching you, holding you, pushing you and falling, falling, you try to lean up but you cannot fly, you cannot do anything, and the ground comes at you and you feel your bones breaking, you feel the life going out of you. And then you're tied and bound in a dark room, and everything is red. Red blood on your hands, and on the floor, and seeping towards you, and red light twisting and creeping into your vision, and-_

The door to your room slams open. The light from the hallway is bright, blinding, and you scramble backwards in a panic, hands flying up to shield your face.

"What happened?" Steve demands as all of your friends (and Bucky Barnes) pile into the room behind him. Everybody's glancing around wildly for the threat. Understanding sinks in, finally, and you want something to bury your flushing face in. They all came in here because you screamed. They probably thought you were being attacked.

"Nightmare," you mumble, not looking at any of them.

"It sounded like an extremely scary one," Thor comments.

"You screamed," Bucky adds oh-so-helpfully. You nod.

"I figured that out," you say. "Luckily it was just a dream, though. Sorry to disturb all of you. Did I wake everybody up?"

"Nah, we were all still awake," Tony assures you. You are not assured by this fact, though, because it's almost 11 and everyone's gonna be exhausted tomorrow.

"Well, go get some sleep, you guys!" 

Everybody seems reluctant to leave you, but with enough reassurances that you'll be fine, it was just a dream, you'll try not to do any more screaming, et cetera, they file one by one from your room.

All, that is, except for Bruce Banner. He sits down on the very edge of your bed, right on your foot, but when he feels you jump he immediately shifts to a different edge, apologizing all the while.

"Dude," you say, "you need sleep too."

"Nightmares are no joke," he says, like he didn't even hear what you've just said. 

You shrug. "Yeah, but it's not a big deal."

"Sometimes it is. Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. Your eyes are adjusting to the dark again, and you can just barely make out the serious set to his jaw.

You consider this for a moment. Would it be better to get your dream out in the open, let someone else hear it? Maybe. But you don't want to say those words, don't want to start seeing red in every shadow just when you managed to stop. You shake your head. No.

 

 

Bruce Banner has had plenty of experience with nightmares. He gets why you don't want to talk about it. But he's also completely against leaving you alone right now. Unless, of course, you want to be left alone, but you haven't said so yet, and he doesn't want to leave you to wake up screaming again.

Lord knows he's done that enough times.

Everything is silent for a few moments. As he gets used to the darkness, he sees you're hugging your pillow close to your chest. Bruce clears his throat, shifts around on the edge of the bed, almost falls off.

"Do you... do you want me to stay in here?" he asks quietly. He's crossing his fingers for you to say yes. Not literally crossing his fingers, but he'd really like to stay in here.  _For [Y/N]'s sake,_ he tells himself.

Right.

But through the murky dark, he sees you nodding and for a second, he's purely excited, like someone gave him a shot full of dopamine and oxytocin and just a little dash of adrenaline. But being him, he's still not certain.

"That's a yes, right?"

"Yeah," you say. "That's a yes."

"Okay," he says. (It's way more than okay by him, but still.) "Now, try to get some sleep," he tells you. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

 You turn over and wriggle your way back under your blankets. Bruce helps you untangle your sheets. For a few moments, he just sits. Your breathing doesn't even out. He wonders if he should be worried.

"You should sleep too," you mumble sleepily, patting the area next to you as you do so.

Bruce freezes like a small wild animal caught in the highbeams of a pickup truck. "Are you sure?"

"Mm-hm."

Awkwardly, he scoots up to the head of the bed, kicks off the shoes he forgot he was wearing, and shimmies under the covers, the whole time yelling at himself inside his head for being so awkward. As far as he can tell, though, you don't care. You just let out a sleepy sigh and curl up against him. Bruce stays very, very still. It's like when the dogs fall asleep on top of him. Only with you. At night. In a bed.

So not very much like that at all.

"Sweet dreams, Bruce Banner," you murmur.

"Good night," he replies.

Within a few minutes, you're breathing slowly and deeply, and every once in a while you slur a few words in your sleep that are too quiet to make out.

 

 

Neither you nor Bruce has any more nightmares that night.

 

 

"Guys, state of emergency," Clint declares at the breakfast table.

"Shouldn't you wait for Banner and [Y/N] before you fill everyone in?" Nat asks, not bothering to look up from her French toast.

"They are the emergency," Clint says. "So I go to check on [Y/N] this morning, right? Cuz I'm up early and I wanna make sure she's not dead of a nightmare-induced heart attack. And guess who I find in there with her?"

Everybody curses in varying degrees. Bucky, who's munching his breakfast and watching the conversation like a tennis match, looks mildly surprised to hear his goodie-two-shoes friend Steve cussing like a sailor along with all the rest.

"Did they..." Thor asks, not saying more than that. It doesn't need to be said.

Clint shrugs. "I dunno. Both still asleep."

"Nat," Tony says through a full mouth, "you're in charge of interrogating them when they wake up."

"I'm not interrogating them," Nat says flatly.

The breakfast table dissolves into a mess of snippy back-and-forths while they wait for you to wake up.

 

 

Elsewhere, the man is choosing a different person for the same failed mission.

_And this time, she will succeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep those comments/kudos/bookmarks coming, guys! I'm so happy that so many people like this story.
> 
> ALSO. IMPORTANT NOTICE IN ALL CAPS. I'm taking fic requests, just for the heck of it! Right now I'm only doing stuff for the MCU, but if you're dying for something else, message me and we'll see if we can work it out. All stories will be 1000 words or less, and they can be a pairing, a reader insert, or just your favorite characters being dorks. Let me know in a message or the comments if there's something you'd like me to write, and I'll try to have it done for you within a week or so!


	15. In Breakfast, Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed. Bucky is entertained. But tomorrow may not be so forgiving...

She's called Monique, even though that's not her name. At the place where she works, only some of them have real names. Others have long strings of pseudonyms, aliases, code names, and lies that connect them to their pasts like a very long spiderweb.  If Monique ever had a real name in the first place, she has forgotten it, along with so much else. She doesn't care - there's no need for a real name in Monique's world. She is part of something larger than herself, larger than names. She is a cog in a machine which will one day have a monopoly on the world, and cogs do not need names.

She is at a base. It is little more than an old bunker in a field, but it is filled to the brim with computers, and on all of the computers Monique sees photos and text and statistics. There are profiles spanning multiple screens. There are nine. Six belong to prominent media figures, well-known do-gooders, philanthropists, heroes. One belongs to a man the world knows as a villain. Monique does not know him as a villain. She lost the concept of villainy around the same time she lost her name. One belongs to a girl who should not be alive. One belongs to a fugitive. She used to know him, but she doesn't know when or why or how. She's forgotten that. She suspects he's forgotten her too. Forgetting is as easy as breathing for them. At least, the ones who survive.

Monique is reading. She can read many things at once, and her memory is very good. After all, she has a well-trained short-term memory. They tell her it used to be photographic. Sometimes she wonders if it still is, but they make her forget. She knows they make her forget many things. She doesn't care or blame them for it. There are some things Monique is not meant to know forever. She holds them intact in her brain until they are wiped away.

She finishes reading all nine profiles in record time. She does not remember what her previous best is, but she knows this is a record. Then, she contacts the man. The man has tasked her with two kills. After all, he knows Monique can handle it. She is one of his best: capable, qualified, _h_ _ungry._

The man has informed her that these two kills need to be more final than pushing somebody off of the roof of a tall building.

Or, for that matter, out of a moving train.

 

 

The clock says 6:01 a.m. when you wake up warm. There's a pinch or two of dusty sunlight filtering through your curtains, turned extra-yellow by the haze outside and the fabric within, and it's hitting your face just right. The air smells like cotton and cold and someone other than you. Your toes are starting to fall asleep, but you wiggle them determinedly, and your sensations return all at once. They are warm. The rest of you is warm, too, and you wonder whether the heater is on.

It's not. It's just that your blankets and sheets are all pulled up snug around you, and you are wrapped up in somebody's arms. You can feel them breathing and hear their heartbeat. In your half-asleep daze, it takes several seconds to come back to you. The nightmare. Screaming. The team in your room. "Nightmares are no joke."

_Bruce._

The man in question is still snoring gently, and you get the impression that absolutely nothing will wake him right now. Still, you're hesitant to leave, partially because this is probably the first decent sleep he's gotten in awhile, but mostly because you're exceedingly comfortable. You snuggle in closer and doze off again.

This works splendidly until you smell breakfast cooking and your stomach emits a sound that's something like a raging lion. You try to get up and get breakfast. The key word being "try." Bruce has got you well and truly trapped, and while being a human teddy bear is still pretty pleasant, it's also really hard to escape. You wriggle and squirm for a good few minutes and get absolutely nowhere. Your stomach rumbles again. You're thinking it's time to wake Bruce up.

"Bruce," you stage-whisper, nudging him as best you can with your limited range of movement. "Hey. Wake up, man. Breakfast time. Bruce. Bruce. Dude, wake up."

Nada. You try again, louder. Still nothing. You jab him in the ribs with the one elbow you've managed to get somewhat free. Not even a stir. He just tugs you closer and keeps on sleeping. You sigh, loudly and exasperatedly, dramatic even though there's no one awake to hear you. You resign yourself to your fate.

Your stomach growls again.

 

 

The clock says 8:37 when Bruce Banner wakes up warm. He doesn't open his eyes yet, but he can feel the sun on his cheek. He's so comfortable, he thinks he might just fall asleep again. This bed is much squishier than his, and he thinks it might be time for him to get a new mattress. In his drowsy daze, he cannot quite figure out why he's not in his own bed. The air smells like cotton and girl, and he wonders where the second part came from. There's something - some _one_ in his arms, warm and soft and breathing steady. Man, it's been a long time since that happened. He opens his eyes and sees you and remembers the events of last night. He remembers you inviting him to spend the night.

He remembers several other things too, but concludes based on the context that those particular things must have been dreams.

He's surprised you're already up, but your eyes are wide open, and you appear to be mouthing song lyrics to yourself.

"Good morning," he says. "Have you been awake long?"

"On and off," you reply. "I'm glad you finally woke up. I'm starving."

Bruce is puzzled. "But you waited for me to get breakfast?"

"Kinda had to," you say, jerking your chin at him. Bruce flushes bright red and lets go of you, scrambling back a good few inches just to be safe. He incapacitated you for God knows how long, and you just had to sit there and wait for him to wake up.

"Sorry," he mumbles. 

"Well, you're awake now! Let's get some breakfast." You hop out of the bed, and Bruce follows, glad that at least one of the two of you isn't wholly embarrassed by this incident.

"Oh, and Bruce?" you say, whirling around suddenly before either of you has reached the door. He raises his eyebrows in response, not trusting himself to talk yet without apologizing again or saying something dumb.

You kiss him on the cheek. "Good morning," you say.

He takes a second to compose himself before following you to breakfast.

 

 

It takes you awhile to notice. You're preoccupied wolfing down half of your breakfast. You really are starving.

But slowly, you start to see it. You see it in Bucky, who's glancing back and forth between you and the rest of the group like you're all on a soap opera. You see it in everyone's smiles and hear it in everyone's voices. Questions. They exchange looks and spend too long staring, quickly looking at anything else the second your eyes move. When Bruce walks in, you hear frenzied muttering at the edge of your hearing range, like a bunch of small birds twittering anxiously to each other. You wonder what happened.

You wonder what  _they_ think happened.

Thankfully, it's only after you swallow the last sip of your drink that you burst out laughing.  _I might be wrong,_ you think, but it's just too funny to you.  _I gotta ask them._

At this point, of course, your friends are all scrutinizing you nervously, like you might have gone insane in the past few seconds. You speak between rushed, giggly breaths. "Oh my god, guys, did you really think - I mean, that's why you're all acting so weird, right? Because Bruce... oh my god, seriously?" You and your giggle fits. It isn't easy to catch your breath, but when you finally manage, you put on your most serious face.

"We didn't fuck, if that's what you're all so weird about."

All at once, the tension in the shoulders of all of your friends relaxes. You snort.

"Well," Loki says with a grin, "I believe that's a relief for all of us."

_What, really?_ you wonder.  _How concerned are they about my sex life? I mean, evidently too much, but still. I don't see how that's much of a relief to anybody. Like, "Oh, phew, you_ don't  _have an active sex life. Man, I was really worried there for a second, but you proved me wrong. Good thing, too. God forbid you get some. Wait. Does Loki mean..._

"And why would that be a relief?" you ask, sounding just a little too sly for your own liking. It'll have to do.

"I might as well tell her," Loki says, addressing the group. You can feel something big about to happen in the air. "After all," he continues, "we all know she's got feelings for us."

_Nat told._

You give her an accusing glare that you know isn't that convincing, and she shrugs. "Sorry," she says.

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not."

"I don't blame you," you tell her. "It was pretty great gossip. So, Loki, are you gonna tell me the big bad secret or what?"

 

 

Tony is silently willing Loki to  _tell [Y/N], tell [Y/N], life in this tower will be so much easier when we can all just freaking admit we like each other and move on._

Every other Avenger is silently willing Loki to  _not tell [Y/N], don't tell her, there is no need to make this weird or difficult for her, life in this tower will be so much more awkward if we essentially force her to choose between her friends._

Bucky is just interested to see what happens next. This is quickly becoming his favorite form of entertainment. Despite the fact that he wants to root for Steve, Bucky's not really sure if he's got any allegiance in this weird, anticlimactic battle. He's just an observer. And damn, is it fun to observe.

"So, [Y/N]," Loki says smoothly, and he can practically see the steam coming out of everyone's ears. "The big, bad secret is that we like you. All of us."

"I assumed that when you started paying me to be your friend," you say coolly.

"That is not what he means," Thor cuts in.

You sigh. "I know," you tell your friends. "I didn't think this could be... like... possible. All of you?"

Nods.

"Awesome," you say sarcastically, earning a laugh despite the heavy awkwardness of the situation hanging on you like a wet wool blanket.

The rest of breakfast passes in silence.

 

 

Monique has a jacket filled with inside pockets and slots and sleeves. A place for everything, and everything in its place. She never forgets where her tools go. Monique is going to make the fate of Girl Who Shouldn't Be Alive and Fugitive From The Organization a lot more final than falling from a moving train.

Or, for that matter, the roof of a tall building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this one took me awhile to get out. I've got a weekend now, so I'll try to get one more chapter up before Monday! Thanks for the influx of comments lately. I appreciate all of them, and I wish I could reply to more! Please, keep letting me know just what you think of the story. :)


	16. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your friends make a decision about romance. But their job is to save people, and they are being shockingly nonchalant about two people who definitely need saving...

You can't take any more of this, and you can't imagine your friends are particularly comfortable either. Even Loki's starting to look as though he'd rather go back and not tell you the big, bad secret. You're immensely flattered right now, and half-convinced that this is one big practical joke, but if everything is going to be this tense and awkward forever, you'd rather Loki never told, too.

"So, got any plans for today, [Y/N]?" Clint asks. He's piling plates into the dishwasher and carefully avoiding making eye contact with you.

You perk up, eager for another topic, any other topic. "Yeah!" you say brightly. "I'm gonna feed the geese in Central Park. When I was a kid, I used to go with my family and we'd all feed the geese before they left for winter. Never broke the habit, I guess. And then I'm going grocery shopping, cuz the company JARVIS orders all of our food from just relocated their headquarters and their orders are three weeks behind. If I don't get something, we're gonna run out of bread, and orange juice, and salt and vinegar chips, and that weird stuff you're always drinking, Steve."

"And swiss cheese, milk, kale, and powdered donuts," JARVIS adds.

"How do you know all this and I don't?" Tony grumbles at you. You smile. He can be a grouch when it comes to other people having the one-up on him. It's pretty adorable.

"I have a lot of midnight snacks," you say, "and I've made friends with our resident AI. Right, J?"

"We are friends," he confirms, and you nod.

"See? I know all sorts of stuff."

"Creepy," Bruce comments flatly, and you laugh along with a few of your friends. For a moment, things don't seem so weird after all.

Clint places the last dish in the dishwasher and makes a hasty exit, still without any eye contact. Thor gives you a huge, obviously strained grin every time you look in his direction. Nat hasn't spoken a word for an awfully long time.

Yep. Still weird. You make a hasty exit. Through the door, down the hall, into the elevator, down to the ground floor, and out the door, without even bothering to grab a jacket. It occurs to you after that you never dried or even brushed your hair after the shower, and the wind is whipping it against your face in messy, ropy tendrils. You consider going back, at least for something warmer to wear, but so desperate are you to escape the Tower that you decide against it.

 

 

"On this season of  _The Bachelorette_ ," Steve jokes. Everyone who's still in the kitchen looks startled. "What?" Steve asks.

"I didn't know they had  _The Bachelorette_ back in the old days," Nat says.

"I can learn," Steve says defensively. "I know a lot about pop culture now."

"Okay," Bruce says, "but why were you watching  _The Bachelorette_?"

Steve crosses his arms and declines to answer. "You could be making old man jokes about Bucky, too, you know," he points out. 

"Please don't," Bucky says.

"Oh, we'll get around to it," Nat tells him. "Give it a week or so."

They make a  _lot_ of old man jokes about Steve, though they do so somewhat sporadically. There will be a few weeks where he doesn't hear a single crack about his age, and then all of a sudden one person will bring it up and it's a tsunami of "you look good for your age" and "back in the day" and "when dinosaurs roamed the Earth" and "going grey" and half a dozen others. It gets annoying pretty fast, but Steve Rogers has learned not to mind. Steve Rogers has learned not to mind a lot of things.

Tony pokes his head through the door. "I heard mocking. Are we making old man jokes about Steve again? I am so here for that."

Steve groans and puts his head down on the table. "Guys, this is getting old."

Nat and Bruce and Tony and even Bucky erupt into laughter and "oooh"s. Steve groans again, but louder and more irritated this time, as Tony yells "self burn!" Bucky pats his longtime friend on the back reassuringly in between snorts of laughter. 

"Stop it," Steve mumbles to the table, sending everybody into gales of giggles again and prompting half a dozen more old man jokes. 

"Shouldn't've watched  _The Bachelorette_ ," Bucky says. "What is that, by the way? Should I watch it?"

Steve spends the next six minutes explaining the concept of and several notable episodes of the show. Once he's finished, Nat, Bruce, and Tony stare blankly at him, all three thinking something along the lines of  _Why does he know so much about The Bachelorette?_

Bucky shrugs. "Maybe I'll watch it," he says indifferently. Steve looks personally offended, and Bucky shoves him in the shoulder. "You'll have to show it to me," he tells Steve, who brightens right up hearing that.

The kitchen goes silent then, and Nat slips toward the door. Before she gets there, though, Tony makes an announcement with all his usual bluster. "I'm calling a team meeting," he says resolutely. "We're talking about the elephant in the room."

"Tony," Bruce says, "I know you worry. I know this is freaking you out. But you're obsessing, okay? Let's go down to the lab for a little while and-"

"No," Tony says. "We're talking about this now. And then I'll stop. Not before."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"And you promise you'll stop after?"

"Maybe."

Bruce sighs. "Good enough for me. But can we at least call the meeting in the lab? I have a few things to finish."

The Avengers assemble. Loki is there too, and though he is decidedly not on the team, he's sort of an Avenger. Bucky, conspicuously, is missing this, his new favorite form of entertainment. Somehow they lost him in between the kitchen and the lab. But he's got to be somewhere in the Tower, so only Steve is particularly concerned.

Most of them visit the lab sometimes, but they're not intimately familiar with it like Bruce and Tony are. Nat is seated on the very edge of a lab table, so as not to disturb the papers strewn about it and so she's poised for a quick exit. Clint has defeated the first of these two purposes by pushing all the papers aside and seating himself directly in the center of the table. Thor is inspecting the various in-progress tests thoughtfully. After examining a tiny tube no bigger than his pinky filled with tiny black spheres, he stands up too fast and slams his head into a cabinet. Loki, leaning against the doorframe, snickers. Steve is leaning over Bruce's shoulder, reading the notes he's scrawling in slanted handwriting. Out of anybody besides the aptly-nicknamed Science Bros (no one is sure who came up with that one, but it stuck), Steve's been down here the most. 

"Alright, people," Tony says, clapping his hands together once. "Bruce has informed me that none of you want to be here-"

"This is true," Thor interrupts.

"-So I'll keep it short," Tony continues, like Thor never said anything at all. "This is the last meeting I'm calling about [Y/N]. Cross my heart and hope to die. Well, not hope to die. Definitely crossing my heart though. Uh. Bruce, you wanna take over?"

"Nope," Bruce says, not even looking up.

"Fine. I'm breaking up with you, though."

"I get the dogs," Bruce returns.

"We'll work it out in court." Tony turns back to the rest of the assembled friends. "So, look. She knows we've  _all_ got a thing for her now. Why'd we let that happen, again? Anyway, all cards are on the table. Cat's out of the bag. Cliches are everywhere. What do we do now?"

"Stop speaking in cliches?" Loki suggests.

"Besides that," Tony says.

"Is there any reason we never involve [Y/N] in these meetings?" Nat asks tiredly. 

"Because she's going to do whatever the hell she thinks is right, regardless of what we decide we're doing?" Clint offers.

It's still not very nice of them to leave you out of all of their love-interest meetings, but Clint is right, so they all shrug and accept this for the time being - if only to get out of this meeting sooner. They would complain, but it's Tony. This is how he is. He can't help it, so they try to help him.

But they still aren't happy about it.

 

 

You're seated beneath a tree, tossing oats to dozens of birds at your feet. Most of them migrated earlier than usual this year, so the flock that's still here is a lot smaller than you're used to. Still, they're all waddling around and squabbling over the oats. You know some parts of the park are crowded today, but you've found yourself a spot that's not quite so packed. In fact, the only people you see are a young couple pushing a stroller containing a toddler past your tree. When the little girl sees you, she points.

"Daddyyyyy," she says. "I wanna feed the birdiiiieeeesss."

Her parents look at each other. "You're taking this one," says one.

"We don't have any food for the geese."

"Yeah, that's why I'm making you take this one."

"Daddyyyyy," she says again. "The birdies are hungry!"

"But she said daddy!" replies the other.

"Yeah, I'm Dad, you're Daddy, remember?"

"No, you're Daddy."

"That never works though!"

You can't help yourself - you giggle. Then, you push yourself off the ground and offer the family the rest of your oats. "Someone's got to feed the geese," you say. The harried fathers thank you and hand their daughter some oats. She immediately unbuckles herself from the stroller and starts placing oats gently on the ground in a straight line. When the geese waddle over to start eating, she claps her hands together in delight.

Her parents thank you again and you stroll off in search of other pursuits, confident that the last of the Central Park geese are in good hands before their flight.

You shiver in the wind. It's biting into your arms. It doesn't sing on the ground like it does way up in the sky, but its teeth are still freezing cold. You definitely wish you'd brought a jacket, but you distract yourself by mentally listing everything you need to get at the grocery store.

You're watching your feet move along the path, one in front of the other, and thinking how much duller and more tiring walking is once you've learned to fly, when somebody slams directly into you. It's not a knocking-shoulders affair. You and someone else have just walked into each other head-on. You smash into their chest and flop to the ground, landing hard on your butt. 

"Sorry, sorry," you say. "Didn't watch where I was going."

A hand reaches out to help you up, and the fingertips shine in the pale sunlight. You take the hand and pull yourself up. Metal.

"What are the odds?" Bucky asks with half a smile. "I was just looking for you."

"You had to get away, too?" you ask, immediately understanding what that half a smile means.

"Mm-hm. Too tense in there."

"Agreed," you say. "Wanna come grocery shopping with me?"

He nods and holds out a hand for you - you've already forgotten he's still a 1940s gentleman at heart, and after all, he's walking you somewhere. Granted, it's the grocery store, but still. It's not his metal one this time. He shakes his sleeve down over that one so just the very tips of his fingers are visible before retracting those into the sleeve, too. You wonder if all of his jacket sleeves are that long. Does he get extra fabric put on? Does he just happen to have really short arms?

You walk for awhile.

Bucky's hand is warm, but the wind is still nipping at you with tiny sharp teeth, and at this point you're shivering uncontrollably. Without saying anything, he pulls the hoodie over his head and hands it to you.

"Oh, no, really, it's okay-"

"Don't worry about it," he says, pressing the hoodie into your hands.

"But aren't you gonna be freezing? Metal arm can't exactly be warm..."

"I know," he says. "That's why I'm wearing two."

You look and see that he does, in fact, have a slightly smaller hoodie on that he was wearing underneath the first one. He grins at you, and you chuckle and pull the hoodie over your head. It's comfortingly oversized on you, but the sleeves are downright massive. You wave your hands wildly, flopping the sleeves around like tentacles and whacking Bucky with them more than once. He appears a little perplexed at first, but then, as you walk, he pulls his arms as far into the sleeves as they'll go and starts flopping you with his sweatshirt. You two whack each other with your respective sweatshirts for a good few minutes. In fact, you're a block away from Central Park before you realize, in all your sleeve-flopping distraction, that the grocery store you like going to is the other way.

 

 

"What is your plan, Stark?" Thor asks, still rubbing his head from the cabinet incident. Tony shrugs.

"Don't have one."

Groans all around. 

"Well," Loki says, "if there's anybody willing to give up on this whole ordeal before it starts, please, speak now or forever hold your peace. I, for one, would love a little less competition for once."

Nobody speaks a word.

"Well that's out," Bruce says.

"Is anyone opposed to just flirting mercilessly until [Y/N] makes the decision for all of us?" Clint asks. "Cuz right now that seems like our only option."

"She cannot choose all of us," Thor points out. "Are you prepared for that?"

"Who says she can't?" Nat retorts. "We don't know. We don't know anything right now."

"We know she's stuck on all of us," Steve says.

"Oh my god, 'stuck on?" Tony says. Steve braces himself for another volley of old man jokes. 

"I still vote for merciless flirting," Clint says.

"Seconded," Nat says with a grin. They've all learned to be wary of that grin by now, and suddenly everybody remembers that there may or may not be an underdog here, but if there is one, it sure as hell isn't Natasha Romanoff.

Slowly, everybody grudgingly accepts Clint's merciless-flirting plan of action, though they've all got their own reservations. Bruce knows you've never seen the Other Guy beyond the occasional appearance on TV. He wants to keep it that way, but he knows the meaning of inevitable. Clint, despite his plan-related bravado, is scared that he's not enough - because that's always been the issue when you're an archer on a team of superheroes. And now you can  _fly._ Who would pick him? Steve, for his part, is still feeling the unsaid sting of all the jokes at his expense. At this point, he's not sure what qualifies as weird and what's just everyday life anymore. He doesn't want to be on the weird side for you. Thor and Loki are worried about each other, because Loki has lived in his brother's shadow all his life, and while he's thinking that won't stop now, Thor's freaked out that it might. Tony remembers your reaction after the kiss with perfect clarity, and in his experience, that's not how someone reacts when they want to date and/or fuck you. Natasha is worried about herself, always looking out for number one. Except, lately, she hasn't been - what happened to love not being her bag? What happened to being, well, Nat? What happened to her?

But the merciless-flirting angle is still reluctantly accepted, and everybody but Tony and Bruce exits the lab, off to use the remainder of their day as they please.

At least, until Steve's cell phone starts buzzing insistently.

"Guys," he says through an intercom. "I think we've got some Avenging to do. Two people just got kidnapped."

"Yeah?" Tony's voice comes crackling back through the com. "If they're politicians, let 'em stay there."

"Tony," Steve says in a warning tone. "It was a man and a woman, both wearing big black hoodies. There were only two witnesses, and nobody got a clear look at the kidnappers, but they know what the car looked like."

"This doesn't sound like a six-Avenger job," Nat points out. "Steve, how 'bout you go?"

"Sure," he says. "I'll call if I need back-up."

"You won't," Tony assures him. "And if you do, make sure it's not me."

 

 

 

You're on track to the grocery store now, but you and Bucky Barnes are still playing with hoodies.

Yeah, you wanna know his dark and tragic backstory (there's gotta be one if he was rehabbing at S.H.I.E.L.D.), and yeah, this is the perfect time to ask, but you don't. The guy deserves some time to just screw around and have fun. So now you two are sleeve-flopping and finding creative uses for kangaroo pockets.

"You wanna know what I used to do with hoodies when I was a little kid?" you ask Bucky. He's taken your hand again, so you demonstrate one-handed, pulling the hood up over your head and cinching the strings until only your nose sticks out. Bucky chuckles. You can see through the fibers of the fabric, but not clearly. The whole world is blurry and sepia-toned, and your peripheral vision is lost in a haze of black fuzz.

"Is that comfortable?" he asks, already pulling up the hood of his own sweatshirt.

"Nah, but it's warm. Except for my nose. My nose is freezing."

You feel a cloth-covered hand across your nose and mouth, and you're about to thank Bucky for the nose-warming. At least, until the grip across your face tightens and Bucky shouts your name in a panic. You feel your hand being wrenched away from his, someone's dragging you backwards, you kick and flail but nobody's helping you. You hear Bucky making noises, and he shouts your name again, and then there are two loud thuds. Pounding footsteps run after you, and you can hear Bucky still shouting for you when he's cut off mid-word, and there's another dull thud and the clank of metal hitting pavement, and there are car doors shutting all around you and a rumble beneath your feet, and you take a deep breath to scream but your head

goes fuzzy

and the

world 

goes

 

black...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have 1000 words more than I usually write! Comments and criticisms are my favorite part, guys, so please speak up if you've got something to say! And thanks for all your feedback and support thus far. It means so much.


	17. Gemini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is, in fact, their first time intimidating someone. But now the Avengers are left with a lot of questions that need answering, and you're not even awake to answer them...

There are pins and needles in every part of your body, like somebody's been sitting on your arms and legs and only just now got up. Somebody very heavy. The air in here is thick and dusty, and you're about to take a deep breath, but something in you screams  _No! Don't!_ and you seize up, holding your breath, refusing to breathe in. You wonder why. You don't remember anything, not since pulling the hood of Bucky's sweatshirt up and cinching it over your face.

Your lungs are burning. Your eyes are starting to water and you can't take a single second more of this, you're going to pass out. You gasp in a long, deep breath, and are startled when you don't smell something cloying and sweet. You recall something you read in a murder mystery once, and then Googled - turns out it was true. 

_Chloroform._

_A hand over my nose, dragging, Bucky, screaming, running, hit the ground, a car and... and..._

Nothing.

"I see she has woken up," says a man's voice from somewhere behind you. You don't recognize his accent. Eastern European?

"A brilliant observation," replies a woman's voice, sticky with sarcasm. She has the same accent. You try to twist around in your chair to get a look at one or both of them, but metal cuts at your wrists and shoulders and stomach and ankles. You try again, with just your head, but shooting pain lightning-bolts through your spine into your head before you even get past your shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" asks the man.

"You don't ask the prisoner how she is feeling," admonishes the woman.

"I want to know."

"But she's a  _prisoner._ "

"I want to know," the man repeats. Stubbornly.

"You are ruining this."

Now, this is without a doubt the most terrifying situation you've been in in your whole life, and that's counting getting pushed off a building. Which, come to think of it, might be related to this. You're strapped to a chair in a dimly lit room after being kidnapped and chloroformed. Bucky is gone too - you're not sure whether they took him or left him in the alley or, God forbid, killed him. Your friends must be worried sick, and you've actually got no concept of how long it's been since your last memory.

But there are several ways human beings deal with the insurmountable, the absurd, and the panic-inducing. And besides all that, the two people arguing behind you are shockingly ineffectual, for people who have already kidnapped and restrained you.

It starts in your stomach. A sort of silent, shivery laughter, until your whole body is shaking and air is coming out of you in little gasps.

"This isn't funny," protests the man.

That stops you cold. You don't want them to hurt you. You  _really_ don't want to be chloroformed again. You swallow, lick your lips, take a breath. Your throat is dry and sore, so you swallow again for good measure. You try to turn around again. You want to see these people who have suddenly and definitely fucked up your life. That shooting pain is still there, through your neck, making you woozy, but you keep turning. You can't see both of them. Just a little flash of white-blond hair.

"Where's Bucky?" you ask them. 

 

 

"Yeah? Okay. Thanks." Steve hits the END button on his cell phone before immediately making another call. It rings once, twice, three times, and Steve worries that nobody's going to pick up, before he finally gets a voice on the other end.

"Steve?" Bruce asks, sounding harried. There are several other muffled voices in the background, and Bruce calls, "Guys, hang on. Steve's on the phone."

"I'll take that backup now," Steve says. "It's Hydra. Don't ask me how they're still around, but they are. Gotta wonder what they've been up to all these years. Either way, I need somebody else. They've got a little hideout eight miles from here, and who knows what's inside."

"Where's here?" Bruce asks.

"Uhh..." Steve consults a road map, balanced on his knee. "Brant, New York."

There are some scuffling noises as the phone is handed to somebody else. "I'll be there soon," Nat promises. More scuffling.

"Has [Y/N] contacted you in the past twenty hours?" Thor this time.

Steve shakes his head, realizes that nobody can hear him shaking his head over the phone, and says, "No, why?"

"She has not come home," Thor says, sounding as worried as Steve has ever heard him. "Neither has your friend Barnes," Thor adds.

"Neither of them?" 

Thor, in the Tower, shakes his head, realizes that nobody can hear him shaking his head over the phone, and says "No."

Steve takes a few seconds to panic outright as things start to come together in his head. His best friend in the world and the woman he loves, both gone missing. Two people, a man and a woman, kidnapped by Hydra yesterday (he's been up all night, so he barely realizes it was yesterday). Bucky, so recently over being brainwashed constantly by Hydra.  _And_ somebody pushed you off a roof at the Halloween party.

"You don't think..." Steve says, unaware that the phone has changed hands again.

"I do think," Tony replies. "Fucked-up coincidence if it's not. Nat just left. She'll be there soon. We'll keep looking for Bucky and [Y/N] over here, just in case."

"We'll find them," Steve assures Tony, trying to sound more confident than he feels. This is one of Steve's gifts in the world, inspiring others even when he's not feeling particularly inspired himself, but today he's not certain how well it's working.

"I sure as hell hope so," Tony says.

Steve presses the END button and wishes it said HANG UP or DISCONNECT. END just isn't the omen he's looking for right now.

 

 

"Your friend with the metal arm is next door," the woman assures you, though it occurs to you that she's probably lying. 

"Do you know who gave him that arm?" asks the man. You shake your head.

"It was them," says the man. "Or... us. All of us."

"You are really bad at this," the woman tells him.

"For God's sake," you say. It slips out. You'd cover your mouth, but you're restrained at the moment. You really don't want them to hurt you. You're terrified out of your wits - hence why your exasperation with the fact that these two people, who remind you more of Jessie and James from Pokemonthan of actual criminals, _still_ managed to kidnap you.

"We didn't do it alone," the woman says.

_Well that was weird. Like she read my mind._

"I did," she says. "Or, something like that."

_Fuck. Fuck. What the actual fuck._

"You make a compelling argument," she says, sarcastic all over again.

And then there are footsteps behind you, around you, and they are in front of you, the people who you're now referring to as Jessie and James in your head. Jessie isn't of a particularly impressive height, and seems smaller next to the man. She has brown hair and a ratty black dress and an old red jacket. Her eyes are deep-set but wide and round, and on most people they'd lend a look of childlike innocence. They almost do that for her, but she looks haunted, too. Like the ghost of a child. James, on the other hand, is tall and well-built and dressed in a silver athletic sweatshirt. His sneakers, you notice, are so worn through that maybe a quarter inch of the sole is left. He seems haunted too, but not around the eyes. More in the way he carries himself, as though he's spent his whole life trying to hold his head up and forget what he's seen - or maybe make up for it.

You don't say a word. At this point you figure you've said too much already. But then, Jessie can apparently read your mind, so you're totally screwed. Great. Better not think anything rude about them.

More footsteps.  _My god, how many people does it take to kidnap a pair of idiots flopping around in hoodies?_ you think, then immediately panic, cuz the girl is definitely going to hurt you for that one.

But, to your surprise, she chuckles. "You, not many. But your friend is harder to kidnap than you may think."

The footsteps pass. You hear a door opening and shutting, and the hint of a voice before the sound is cut off. You're about to ask what precisely makes Bucky so hard to kidnap - you're thinking it's probably got something to do with the tragic backstory - but Jessie leans over and whispers something to James, who fixes you with a puzzled stare.

"My sister says you call us Jessie and James. Why? Those aren't our names."

 _So they're related,_ you think.  _Also they've never heard of Pokemon._

"It's, ah, it's a pop culture reference," you say simply. You're wary of talking too much, though these people haven't hurt you at all yet. Well, beyond the initial kidnapping. That's a pretty big deal.

"Explain," says James.

"Uh... do you really wanna know?"

A red haze starts creeping into the edges of your vision. You see Jessie staring at you intently, fiddling with her hands in minute movements. It occurs to you: she's doing whatever this is. Suddenly you'd really like to tell these two about Pokemon.

"You can stop, Jessie," you say. "Also, that's a really cool power thing you've got going on there. Mental manipulation. Anyway, so it's a reference within a reference, actually. There's this game-slash-manga-slash-TV show that started in Japan called Pokemon, and there's these two villains named Jessie and James, and they're a crime duo, but they're also alluding to the outlaw Jesse James."

"What is Pokemon?" Jessie asks you, wide eyes wider, evidently curious. When you fail to respond immediately, she starts with the red stuff again, but you shake your head.

"No, it's fine. No red stuff necessary. So the idea behind Pokemon is that..."

You explain the concept behind the massive franchise. It takes awhile, though. Your explanation is rambling and stuttery and altogether a product of frayed nerves, as opposed to real desire to explain a popular Japanese children's media empire. You keep half-calculating escape scenarios in your head before remembering that Jessie can read your mind. You're worried about Bucky.

Around the time you get to the practice of earning Gym Badges, you notice that Jessie and James are both sitting cross-legged on the floor, listening intently to your explanation like little kids hearing a bedtime story. You pause, wondering when they sat down.

"Is that it?" James asks.

"What are your names?" you ask. "I can't just keep calling you Jessie and James."

" _They_ ," says a crisp female voice, "are the twins. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. And they are not doing their jobs."

 

 

Steve and Nat tried to sneak in. They really, truly tried.

Now they're just punching, shield-slamming, elbowing, judo-ing, and otherwise forcing their way through this Hydra compound. They would be having a tougher time of it, but these hallways are pretty narrow, so Hydra can only send goons to stop them about two or three people at a time. They leave a trail of unconscious men and woman in their wake, barely stopping to sufficiently incapacitate them. If you and Bucky are really trapped here... well, they haven't got the time to waste.

They approach what appears to be a heavily guarded control room. The people guarding it, two huge, burly men and two huge, burly women, charge when Steve and Nat get close. Steve yanks his shield from his arm, and all four guards flinch, but he tosses it to Nat instead, who slams it down on the back of the first guard's neck

A few minutes of dodging and very intense Ultimate Frisbee later, and all four guards are passed out on the ground with more broken bones than intact ones. An intercom crackles to life, requesting more backup, more backup, but nobody responds. They indulge in a quick high-five before breaking into the control room. Literally breaking in, too. Doors are no match for Steve Rogers.

They're struck by the monitors, monitors everywhere. Dozens of rooms from hundreds of angles. The whole room must be computer screens, each split into two, four, eight different views. 

"You take left, I'll take right," Nat says, and Steve nods.

Two minutes and fifty-six seconds into the search, Steve makes a wordless noise and points. Bucky, there on the screen, strapped with glistening metal to a big chair, struggling and screaming. The monitors have no sound, but it is oh, so obvious. There is a man in there with him, and a timid-looking girl. They are hooking him up, slowly, to a vast machine.

Nat begins to say something to Steve, but he is already halfway out the broken door. "I'm finding that room!" he yells back over his shoulder.

Nat glances at the monitor. "A104," she calls.

"Thanks!" comes faintly back to her as the sound of pounding feet fades away down the hall. Nat resumes the search for the monitors displaying you and finds them almost immediately - room A102. They don't have you hooked up to anything, but you're restrained just as Bucky is, and there are three people in the room with you, surrounding your chair.

Nat sprints off after Steve.

 

 

Jessie and James - er, Wanda and Pietro - both scramble to their feet, bowing to the woman behind you as they do so.

"Oh, don't bother," she spits. "I'll deal with you two later. You were supposed to be dragging something useful out of her, but it's too late now. A couple of theirs have broken in. You know what to do if you're captured."

They nod solemnly. 

You twist in your seat, trying to look at this woman who brought a chill into the room with her. She laughs and that, too, is cold.

"My name does not matter," she says. "I know you want to know."

She steps in front of you, blocking your view of the twins. The first thing you notice about her is that she is blind in both eyes. They've gone milk-white, with just the faintest suggestion of blue beneath, and a horizontal slash mark runs between them, exiting on either side near her temples. The slash mark is also white, raised, a scar from who knows how long ago. You wonder who took her sight. You wonder why.

The second thing you notice about her is that she has a syringe in her hand, tiny, with a needle that looks no thicker than a blade of grass. It's filled with liquid, you can tell because it's bubbling gently, but the liquid itself is clearer than crystal.

The third thing you notice about her is that she has a name tag that says "Monique."

That's about when the door bursts open with a nails-on-a-chalkboard shriek of the hinges and Monique lunges for you with the syringe and you try to twist away but  _obviously_ it doesn't work. She starts to push the plunger down but then there's one gunshot, one single crack, and she is lying on the floor. Your whole body feels hot. Your throat is closing, and your fingers feel numb. Nat strides quickly past you, headed for the twins, and something in you breaks at the looks on their faces. James - Pietro - looks at his sister and squeezes her hand.

"Don't hurt them," you slur, and Nat looks at you, startled.

"P-please," you add through lips that have lost all their feeling.

 

 

Nat looks back and forth between you and the twins, unsure of what to do. They're the enemy. But you want them safe.

She would ask you more, but at present, you are slumped as far forward in the chair as your metal restraints will allow you to go, and you are not moving. Nat pulls out her cell phone and dials 911 before walking straight up to the twins.

"Get her out of those things," she says, "and then I'm leaving. Don't come with me."

Another door on the opposite wall bursts open. "Bucky's having a panic attack," Steve says. "I'm staying here with him until an ambulance gets here. You called 911, right? Did you find [Y/N]?"

Nat nods and steps to the side, revealing your slumped form. Steve curses. "Is she breathing?"

"Barely."

Steve glances at you, then back into the other room at Bucky. Then you, then Bucky.

"Stay with him," Nat says. "I've got her."

Steve nods, takes one last look at you, and retreats into the other room. 

The twins have busied themselves with freeing you from your restraints. The syringe lays abandoned on the floor, still mostly full. Nat picks it up, snaps the needle in half, and sticks it in her belt. Someone will want to have a look at whatever's in that syringe.

Once you're free, Wanda and Pietro retreat to a corner and speak to each other, rapid-fire, in a language that is very nearly Russian but not quite. Natasha props you up in your chair and kneels next to you and takes your hand.

"Wake up," she says.

This is how the paramedics and policemen find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I even need to say it at this point? Feedback is my favorite part, so thank you for all you've done thus far and please, keep it coming!
> 
> Lots of this chapter is comprised of Pokemon references, as you've probably figured out, so I've included the link to the Pokemon Wikipedia page.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pokémon


	18. Out Of Your Depth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Hydra want you dead so badly? What will become of the Maximoff twins? And where exactly did Bucky's hoodie go? It's only a matter of time before you find out the hard way...

You're getting awfully sick of waking up in strange places full of chemical smells. At least this one isn't dark. And you're lying down this time. That's different. You wonder how many times you're going to black out and wake up somewhere else, and how many different nasty chemicals there are for these places to smell like.

You try to sit up, but there's a crashing wave noise in your head. Your vision in and out of focus and for some reason the whole room seems two-dimensional and you're so dizzy that you have to lay back down. You feel strings and wires on your arms, and when you try to move, they pull taut. You're tied up here.

Getting real tired of that, too.

You become aware of an annoying beeping on the edges of your hearing. It's almost too high-pitched for you to hear, but not quite. It sends more shocks of pain through your head every time it rises.

"You're awake!" comes a boom, so loud your hands fly up to cover your ears, but you can't get them all the way there because of the wires.

"Too loud," you croak through a dry mouth and cracked lips, barely above a whisper.

"You're awake," the same voice whispers. "I am pleased! You slept for thirteen days. The others will be upset that they could not be here."

"Thirteen days?" You roll your head to the side to see Thor sitting in a very uncomfortable-looking white plastic chair. There's a magazine in his lap, but you can't see the title of it. There appears to be a cupcake on the front.

"Thirteen days," he confirms, still in a whisper. "We came here immediately when we heard. The others are only here during visiting hours, but I do not need to sleep, and who would dare attempt to send me away?"

"Don't piss off the god of thunder," you agree, attempting a smile. That hurts. You swear you feel your lips splitting.

"Do you need water?" he asks, forgetting to whisper, and you wince. He corrects his volume immediately. "They provided me with a pitcher," he whispers, holding it up for you to see. You nod, and he pours you some. You reach out a hand for the glass, but the wires pull taut and the beeping starts getting louder and angrier.

"I can't," you say.

"Fear not. Here. Can you sit up?"

Gently, Thor supports you as you ever-so-slowly push, pull, and wriggle yourself into a sitting position. There's still that crashing-wave noise, and you're still dizzy, but it's much better this time. Thor hands you the glass, and you reach for it.

And miss.

You try again.

0 for 2.

"I... what is... I can't..." You try a third time, and your fingers touch the glass, but you're not close enough.  _What the hell?_

"I will do it," Thor assures you, "Just be careful with yourself."

"Where's Bucky?" you ask before you take a drink.

"Home," he says. "He had only minor injuries. He is shaken but well."

You nod, relieved that at least one of you got out unscathed. You wonder where the nurses put the hoodie you were wearing. You still have to give it back to him.

Thor brings the glass to your lips and you down the whole thing in two gulps before requesting more. You can't remember being this thirsty in your whole life. Frankly, you can't remember being this  _anything_ in your whole life. Things were so normal when you first met the Avengers. You think back to your first day, panicking that they would fire you for screwing around with some robots. And now you're apparently the kind of person who can fly, gets almost-murdered not one but two times, makes friends with kidnappers, and wakes up regularly in terrible-smelling places.

"What a life," you mumble to yourself.

"I am going to call the others," Thor announces.

"What time is it?" you ask. Your voice is working a lot better now.

"One thirty-six in the morning," Thor says.

"Don't wake them up!"

"Trust me, Lady [Y/N]," he says, squeezing your hand gently. "They will want to be woken up."

 

 

In fact, the Avengers do want to be woken up. They're all arrayed throughout a previously-empty room on the ground floor that Tony's turned into the ultimate sleepover space. For the past several nights, though none of them wants to admit it, being alone is a little frightening right now. Only some of them are sleeping at the moment, and the simultaneous ringtones of over half a dozen phones, all piled in the middle of the room, are enough to wake even the sleepers up pretty damn quickly.

Steve fumbles around for the phone blaring "God Bless America." Bruce's hand shoots straight for the phone chiming with Pachelbel's Canon in D. Tony pats the ground around him for a good twenty seconds before finally finding the phone blasting two lines from "Iron Man" on repeat.

Simultaneously, every one of them in that room, the Avengers and Loki and Bucky, all say, "Hello?"

"She is awake," Thor's voice says through the tinny speakers.

The cheer that rises up in the room is ragged and tired and cracked. They have spent thirteen days on the edge of their seats, thirteen days not knowing whether or not you were going to wake up, thirteen days of never quite focusing on the task at hand. They are exhausted, and that is an understatement.

But it is a cheer, and it is loud and joyful. Because however tired they are, you're awake, and everything can be okay again.

Will it? Who can say?

But it can be.

 

 

Eleven minutes later, there's noise. Pain screams through your head, making your ears ring and your eyes water, and you cover your ears. You feel one of the wires detach and a machine starts beeping quickly and loudly, which makes the noise factor a whole lot worse. You screw your eyes shut and make a noise that you can't quite form into words yet, because  _fucking ow._

"You're so loud," you whine when you're finally able to talk properly, and the noise dies down somewhat, and the pain in your head along with it. The incessant beeping is still there, though. You still can't see who all the chatter is coming from, although based on the voices you feel pretty certain it's your friends - all of them. You wonder how they got here so fast before deciding it probably doesn't matter.

A nurse rushes over to you from the other side. "Oh no," she says, "which one came out? Are you feeling any sudden pain or discomfort?"

"Pain and discomfort, yeah, but sudden, no," you say.

She inspects your arm. "It was one of your IVs with the pain meds - your hydromorphone drip. Here, I'll just numb that spot up and put it back. Try not to move around too much, alright? We don't want you losing something more important."

"What else is she hooked up to?" you hear Clint demand, off to your left, but you still can't frickin' see him.

"Well, a heart monitor, a respiration monitor, and a body temperature monitor, obviously. There's her hydromorphine drip, as well as two other pain IVs and one CNS stimulant cocktail for the optic issue. And, of course, the blood transfusion - that's almost finished, though."

"Blood transfusion? I didn't lose any blood," you say. "Wait... did I?"

The nurse shakes her head, still messing around with your wires. You feel like a marionette. Finally, the beeping slows down and quiets.

"You weren't bleeding, no, but we thought a transfusion was the best course of action considering the blood toxin levels you were running. And look, it's working. So anyway, the point is, try not to pull out any of these tubes, okay?"

You nod. "Got it. Thanks."

The nurse rushes off again.  _Probably to put some other idiot like me back together again,_ you think. You wish you had asked her to elaborate on exactly what sort of blood toxin levels you were running - you get the feeling it's some sort of medical miracle that you're still alive and well.

Your friends are all talking at once off to the side. "For God's sake, guys," you say, "get over here where I can see you."

 

 

The Avengers pause and look at each other. "Uh, [Y/N]," Bruce ventures. "We're right here."

"Right where?"

You're turning your head to the side to look at them, but you stop with a pained grimace and set your head back the way it was. The Avengers exchange another full set of worried glances with each other. Suddenly everyone's not so sure you escaped from that ordeal unharmed - and the fact that you don't seem to know what's wrong, either, is just making everything more worrisome.

"Can you see?" Bucky asks bluntly, saying what everybody else is thinking.

You nod. "Duh."

"Are you sure?" Tony jumps in.

"Guys. Unless this hospital room is a weird hallucination, I'm pretty damn sure I can see. There's a shitty plastic chair and a heart monitor and a doorway to my left, and a window across the way along with some empty beds. The TV's playing  _Days of Our Lives._ "

"But you can't see us," Steve says, stepping closer to you and looking you over.

Your expression changes from eye-roll exasperated to frightened. "No," you say slowly. "I can't see you."

Your eyes, functioning or not, widen, and the Avengers can see the panic coming over you. You've got the look of a horse that's just been spooked, frozen but ready to bolt, and they all jump in to help you at once before remembering how you reacted to the noise before. The voices die off, one by one. Loki sits down at the end of your bed and says nothing. An uncomfortable silence spills over the vast and empty hospital room. The machines beep steadily.

"What did they do to me?" you ask in a tiny voice.

"The nurse mentioned CNS stimulants for the 'optic issue,'" Nat says. "So they're trying to fix it."

"Whatever they stuck you with probably damaged your optic nerve," Tony agrees.

"So I'm blind in my left eye now," you say flatly.

"Perhaps not forever," Loki adds quickly, in his most soothing voice.

To everybody's shock, you start crying. You're not one of those people who can shed a few tears without ever smudging their mascara. Your eyes get red and your face flushes and you scrunch up your nose. But at the same time you're making a crying face, you're smiling. Everyone is spectacularly confused.

"What's wrong?" Thor asks, stepping up to give your hand a squeeze. You shake your head, tear tracks on your cheeks, still smiling.

"I really don't remember this being in my job description," you say.

It's as though a starting gun went off. The Avengers and Loki and Bucky, those that aren't already very close to you, rush to give you a hug. The machines beep insistently. For the moment, nothing matters.

You're alive. Asleep for thirteen days. Half-blind. Crying. But alive.

What else matters?

 

 

After three more days in the hospital, you're finally allowed to go back to the Tower. Your friends all fret and flutter over you to make sure you're doing alright. You're feeling much better when they release you - no more pain when there's noise or when you turn your head. The blood transfusion apparently went splendidly, so there's no chance of death by poison. In fact, you're feeling well enough to make snarky jabs at your friends for acting like little old ladies.

Minus side: you still have only one working eye.

Double minus side: this means you start flinching a lot when things come near your face. Before, you knew somewhere in the back of your head that having two eyes is the reason people have depth perception. That knowledge is starting to become very, very important when you have no idea how close things are coming to hitting you in the face. Usually it's not as close as you think. In the case of one passerby's animated hand gesture, far closer than you think.

It's one hell of a relief to get back to your own bed. As soon as the elevator reaches your floor, you sprint for your room and flop into the bed, face-down. You've walked that hallway so many times that you make it through without bumping into anything. You take a deep breath in. Smells like home. And dogs.

No chemical smell to be found.

As soon as this thought gets through your head, you hear a yap and something landing on the bed next to you. Shortly thereafter, you feel a slobbery dog tongue all over the side of your face. You'd recognize that yap (and that slobber) anywhere.

"Florrie!" you cry, sitting up. "Hi, girl. I missed you. Were you a good girl while I was away?"

Florrie yips happily. There's a distant rumbling, and seven more dogs pile onto you all at once. Tongues and tails are everywhere, and you giggle. It's good to be back home.

 

 

"What should we do?" asks the girl, looking at the wreck of a place before them. So many dead. Broken doors and shattered vials and cracked computer monitors showing blurry views of identical rooms.

"We'll do what we always do. We will move on."

"But to where?"

The man kicks at a pebble with the ripped and scuffed toe of his sneaker. He'll have to get new ones soon, though he doesn't know where they'll come from - begging, borrowing, buying, or flat-out stealing. "I do not know, little sister," he says. "We will go to whoever will take us."

"There are more of them. We can find another place like this."

"I don't want to."

"Neither do I."

The man brightens. "You know what we can do?"

"What?"

"We can find someplace to watch that show she was telling us about."

The girl smiles at her brother, shaking her head. "It is a start," she says.

"And once we find a place to watch the show, we can find her, too. She will be kind to us. She told them not to hurt us."

"How do you know she will?"

"I just know."

The girl nods. "Then it is a plan."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long - I've been suffering from some major writer's block. Please, let me know what you think in the comments. Your feedback is a huge deal! And thank you for all you've done so far. :D


	19. Moonlighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up again, even though going blind in one eye is more trouble than you anticipated. But all that walking the twins are doing will lead them to your doorstep eventually. The only question is when...

The man is perfectly calm. Tranquil, even. His face betrays no displeasure, no hint of even hearing the news or seeing the reports, though he's been receiving them nonstop. Lesser men who have filled his position have screamed, shrieked, turned red in the face, put their fists through tables and their elbows through walls. Greater men than he have never existed, but he's certain that if they had, they would have done just as he is doing now.

He sits, eyes closed, fingertips pressed together, head bowed. His chair is tilted back on the rear two legs. It's unclear how he is keeping it in that position to an observer, because he is leaning on nothing nor propping himself up. The man is entirely relaxed, his whole body in perfect balance. He will not fall nor shift nor collapse unless he changes his position. The man is perfectly calm.

"Sir? Did you-"

"I heard you," he says. This one has not learned to forget yet. His name is Trent. He still remembers that. He needs more training.

The man barely moves his mouth when he speaks. "Monique dead. The girl and the runaway escaped. The twins gone. But I repeat: you are not needed. None of you are needed. We cannot bring Monique back. We are five or six years away from that capability. And since there is no Monique, there is no need for anybody else. Leave me."

"But sir-"

"They say," says the man, opening his eyes, though not moving the rest of his body. "They say if you want something done right, you must do it yourself."

The man springs from his chair and clears the length of the room. He moves so fast, so lithe, so gracefully that he is halfway out the door when the chair meets the concrete floor and splinters, with a sound like the cracking of bones, on contact.

 

 

You sit down sheepishly at the breakfast table, thankful only Clint is already in the kitchen, attempting to make it look like you're not trying to hide your nose while also trying very hard to hide your nose. You've already tried pushing your hair in the way of your nose, but that just tickles, not to mention making you look like Cousin Itt from  _The Addams Family._ You sit with your face resting on one of your hands, oh-so-casually extending your fingers across your nose. It hurts a little, pressing on it, but you'd rather be in a little pain than let your friends see what happened. They've been worried enough lately as it is.

It takes all of two seconds for Clint, who is frying eggs when you come in, to notice something's off.

"Hey, what's up with your nose?" he asks, squinting at you.

"Oh, huh? Nothing."

Clint puts his hands on his hips, a spatula still clutched in one fist. "I'm calling bullshit," he says.

"Call what you like," you insist, "but my nose is fine."

"Move your hand then."

"Cliiiint," you whine.

He turns back to the stove, shuts off the heat under the eggs, replaces his spatula on the counter, and strides over to you. You shrink down in your seat and don't move your hand away from your face. Not until Clint moves it for you. He's gentle with you, but you've really got no choice in the matter.

There's a sharp intake of breath from Clint, and you groan. "Did I not get all the blood off? There's still blood on my face, isn't there? Damn. I thought I did a good job with that."

"No blood," he confirms, and you sigh with relief.

"Wait, so what's the issue?"

"Your whole nose is black and blue."

You groan again and rearrange yourself so your hand is back over your nose. Just what you needed. Not that it isn't flattering how worried your friends all are about your health and well-being, the last thing you want is another reminder to them that you're breakable.

"Can you fix it?" you mumble into your hand.

"Listen, hon, there's some things even I can't fix," Clint says with half a smile. "I mean, I can kiss it better if you want, but that's about all I've got."

You grin at him, despite the ache in both your nose and your pride. "You're a terrible doctor, Clint Barton," you say.

"Care to test that theory?"

Before you can move or even blink, Clint's got your hand again, the one that was previously used to cover your unfortunate nose issue, and he's pressing a quick, light kiss to the tip of your nose. You giggle and try to snatch your hand back, but Clint's too quick for you, and he captures your other wrist too, and pulls you from your chair. For a second it feels almost like a strange sort of dance, but Clint pulled you a bit too hard and you lose your balance and crash into his chest, and he stumbles back a step but stays standing. He lets go of your hands in favor of wrapping you up in a tight hug that feels like the very concept of comfort. You're perturbed for a second, but only for a second. After that, you sink into the hug, snuggling against Clint and relishing the feeling of safety and warmth that's come over you.

"I take it back," you say, words muffled almost beyond recognition by the fabric of his shirt. "You're an okay doctor, Clint Barton."

"Told you so," he replies.

He kisses the top of your head, too, before releasing you. He says nothing else. You say nothing else, but you smile. You sit back down and he goes back to frying eggs. "But seriously," he says after almost a minute of silence, "what happened to your nose?"

"Something happened to your nose?" asks a voice from the doorway. Bruce is halfway into the kitchen, but he's stopped, going into the mama-hen mode that your friends all seem to have developed.

You sigh. "I'll tell you once everybody's here."

 

 

The Avengers are dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry," Loki says, "but I'd just like to clarify this for all of us. You flew..."

"Into a building, yes," you reiterate exasperatedly. "I went out for a flight early this morning and I flew into a building."

"Did anybody see you?" Steve asks. 

You shake your head. "Not that I know of."

Tony, though he's extremely concerned for your well-being (the black-and-blue nose isn't helping matters there), is also having a hard time keeping a straight face. "So you just..." He flattens one of his hands and smacks it, fingertips-first, into the palm of his other hand. "Right into a building?" he asks.

"Yup. No depth perception, remember?"

Tony loses it, cackling at a mental image that's not far off from a _Roadrunner_ cartoon. His teammates all fix him with identical glares.  _Can't you see she's in pain?_

_Yeah,_ Tony wants to say,  _of course. I'm just as worried about her as you are. But... holy shit, that's hilarious._

Tony's validation comes when you start snickering right along with him. Pretty soon, the rest of the table is laughing awkwardly with you and Tony in order to look like they're in on the joke. Even though most of them aren't.

It's rough out there for a superhero with a crush. Or, more accurately, six superheroes, one demigod with a weird moral compass, and a former amnesiac, with a crush.

"We should try to figure out a way to get you your sight back in that eye," Bruce muses. "Should only take a a few hours, give or take."

"Give or take how much?" you joke. Bruce grins.

"I can't reveal all my secrets."

Breakfast is, on the whole, a merry affair, despite the blossoming black-and-blue that's now spreading to either side of the bridge of your nose like a drop of ink in a glass of water. The team is very worried about you, of course, but they're also wary of being too overbearing. It sure seems like you've been annoyed with them lately, all of their worrying and fussing and fretting every time you take a step. They don't want you to get fed up with them forever. God forbid.

But then, you did just fly into a building.

The day passes shockingly uneventfully given how life has been going recently. Tony and Bruce spend the whole day in the lab, most of it with you, working through various potential solutions to the eyesight problem. Your eyeball itself isn't damaged - whatever neurotoxin they shot you with just fried your optic nerve. This makes things a little tougher on Tony and Bruce, since they can't just replace a damaged retina and call it a day, but they assure you they'll come up with something. They work through lunch and dinner until you finally rally the force of the rest of the team to convince them to come upstairs.

None of the Avengers are quite sure who proposed the idea of a sleepover. It just sort of came up naturally in the conversation. But you love the idea.

So it's settled.

 

 

It's dark, and the twins are walking.

"This is a bad idea," Wanda says to Pietro.

"Yes," Pietro agrees. "He tried to kill us."

"He did," Wanda replies. "It is his fault our lives are like this."

"Mm-hm."

"But we have nowhere else to go," Wanda rationalizes.

"True," Pietro says. "Besides, maybe he will not be there."

"It's his house."

"It's her house too."

"And she will take us in," Wanda says.

"Yes."

"So it's settled?"

Pietro laughs quietly. "Little sister, it has been settled for the past day. Otherwise we would not be walking."

Wanda rolls her eyes at him. "Little sister? I'm only twelve minutes younger than you."

"But you're littler than I am."

They chuckle with each other and walk a little further in silence. Their footsteps make quiet smacks against the concrete. Pietro has worn out the soles of his shoes, so he is barefoot. Wanda's boots crunch every time she hits a stray pebble. There are sidewalks now, all slick with muddy water and shiny in the moonlight. There haven't been sidewalks for the past day or so. They're thankful for the sidewalks, even if they are cracking and slippery. They keep putting one foot in front of the other.

They walk a little further. Pietro turns to his sister.

"This is a bad idea," Pietro says to Wanda.

"Yes," Wanda agrees.

 

 

"Dude," you say to nobody in particular, stretching out in a pile of pillows and grabbing a fistful of popcorn from the nearest bowl. "Why have we never had a sleepover before?"

"In this tower, every night is a sleepover," Loki grumbles.

"Then why have none of the previous nights been this fantastic?" you shoot back.

This is no ordinary sleepover. You've all set yourselves up in the big entertainment room, the one where you watched the Lion King, what seems like ages ago. It wasn't enough to just coat the floor in endless blankets and pillows - or rather, at first it was. But then Natasha proposed going all out and creating a sheet fort, and of course the idea was so well-received that construction began immediately. Now, the room is canopied with sheets in varying colors and patterns and strung with Christmas lights (which is probably a fire hazard, if you're being honest, but it's not as though there are no superheroes to save everybody). Bowls of popcorn have been scattered haphazardly throughout the room, as well as various bottles of water, soda, iced tea, and alcohol, which everybody is drinking from in turns without paying any mind to the threat of germs.

You've already watched  _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ and most of the second season of  _Steven Universe_ (there was a marathon on TV). Tony has thoroughly kicked everyone's asses at Jenga (Mr. I Can Do Complex Mathematical Calculations In My Head) and Nat has thoroughly kicked everyone's asses at poker (Miss I Can Tell Whenever Someone's Lying About Anything). Now, Steve is flicking through Tony's movie collection as Thor loudly recommends  _The Lion King_. Clint, who's already had a tad bit too much alcohol, is slowly convincing Bruce and Bucky to join him in a musical number - they're not sure what song yet. _  
_

For your part, you, Nat, and Loki are tossing popcorn at each other, attempting to catch it in your mouths as Tony awards style points. You're losing, badly, until Nat starts tossing them directly into your mouth to make up for the fact that you can't freaking tell when anything is getting close to your face. The whole game is cracking you up, and Loki hasn't stopped smiling for at least an hour. Nat's lazy grin hasn't left her face, either. For some reason, the sleepover atmosphere has turned the entire team into a bunch of goofballs. You included.

"Hey," Tony says, winking at you when no one else is looking, "I have an idea."

"I swear, Tony, if you say 'spin the bottle,' I have no qualms about kicking you out of this tower," Bruce warns him.

Tony shakes his head indignantly. "No, no. Are you kidding me? It's something even more immature than that."

Everybody groans, but as Steve finishes disapproving of just about every movie in Tony's collection, there's nothing else to do but hear the genius out. He turns to you with a smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye that seems to tell you he's on your side. You believe that until he opens his mouth.

"[Y/N]. Truth or dare?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know truth or dare is quite the fanfiction cliche, but trust me when I say I have a plan. (Also trust me when I say I just really wanna play truth or dare with the Avengers.) Comments? Criticisms? Please let me know, I love hearing from you!


	20. The Queen Can Move Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are running high, and if you're not careful, something's going to snap. Especially now that there are two more players on the board...

Truth. Or. Dare. Those three words strung together mean certain humiliation and a need for more alcohol and less maturity than there is in the room right now. They're enough to scare off the meek, shy, awkward, and sober.

Luckily, you're none of those things at the moment.

"Dare," you say, utterly confident in your decision. Truth is actually the much scarier option for you in present company. After all, your friends have all seen you do stupid things (you did just fly into a building this morning). But you'd be lying if you said you weren't afraid of the things that could come out on a Truth.

"I like your style, kid," Tony says. "Hmm... do your best impression of my good pal Capsicle."

Steve groans. "No old man jokes," he says.

"Don't worry, Steve. I wasn't planning on it." You grin wickedly at your friends and stand up, taking care not to bump into the low-hanging Christmas lights. You take one look around at everybody in the room, a gleam in your eye, and begin to belt out "God Bless America" at the top of your lungs. A gale of laughter and applause sweeps through the room, and Clint and Nat shout "encore!" as you finish. Bucky claps the loudest, elbowing Steve with a huge grin on his face.

"You know, I can't even argue with that," Steve says, sending another riot of laughs sweeping around the room. People have sat down in a rough circle now, and the giggles wash counterclockwise around the circle.

"So now I get to ask someone?" you ask rhetorically. "I wonder who'd be fun. Hey, truth or dare, Loki?"

He smirks. "Truth."

There's a jeering chorus of "laaaame" and "boo," but you smile. "Brave choice. So you've got an uncanny thing for reading people's minds. Tell us what's on yours."

More jeering. You hold up a hand for silence. "All of it," you continue, "and I mean  _all_ of it. My good pal Nat will let us all know if you're leaving anything out - and knowing her, she'll probably be able to tell us exactly what it is."

"I will," Nat confirms.

"Not as lame!" Tony shouts in the same mocking tone of voice as before. You laugh and focus your eyes back on Loki.

"We're waiting," you say, gaining a smirk as he loses his.

 

 

Loki shrugs, attempting a smug smile and knowing he's failed. "That's perfectly fine," he says. "I've nothing to hide."

"Lie."

Everybody in the room glances at Nat, surprised. She's reclining on a pile of pillows and giving everybody her most innocent smile. "Well, you heard the lady," she says to Loki. "We're waiting."

Loki sighs. "Fine. Currently I'm thinking that the alcohol on this miserable planet is not nearly strong enough."

There's a chorus of laughter, and for one blissful second, he's certain he's off the hook. There are smiling faces around him, and for the first time he can remember, Loki feels as though he's among friends.

"That's not all," Nat says flatly, and the spotlight eyes are focused on Loki again.

"Of course it's not," he says. "Hm, what next? I'm thinking how odd it is that none of you are trying to kill me at the moment. Because, to be perfectly honest, that is very, very odd. I'm wondering if there's a point to this game, with winners or losers."

"Yeah," Clint says with a grin, "everyone loses."

Loki rolls his eyes. "Well, either way, that's it."

"Lie," says Nat, the innocent smile looking decidedly more wolfish than it should.

"Is not," Loki retorts.

"Is too," Nat mocks.

"Well then, if I  _must_ go on, I'm frankly also hoping the combination of terrible alcohol and this game will  _finally_ get us to some conclusion as far as you are concerned, [Y/N]. Personally I'm rooting for myself, of course." He tips his chin in your direction, and a blush spreads over your face. For Loki, that one blush makes the whole affair completely worth it. You're adorable, and he decides he likes you best when you're blushing.

"He thinks you're cute when you're blushing," Nat says drily.

You cover your face with your hands, and Nat almost regrets mentioning it. After all, she, too, thinks you're cute when you're blushing.

"Loki, just ask somebody," you mumble into your hands.

Over the course of the evening, Steve is forced to sing a cover of ABBA's "Dancing Queen." Bruce dances a samba with Loki. Bucky performs an impromptu gymnastics routine, which is better than expected - and given the fact that his background involved so much coordination, everybody expected quite a bit. Tony spends three rounds sitting in Natasha's lap, much to both of their annoyance. Thor removes his shirt - though oddly, that one wasn't for a dare.

After Loki, nobody picks truth.

As everybody capable of getting drunk gets drunker (and everybody not capable of getting drunk gets tireder), the dares get racier. The lap-sitting continues with a very disgruntled Bucky and an even-more disgruntled Steve. Tony does his best impression of an erotic dancer, even though one, there's actually no pole anywhere and two, that dare turns out to be a very bad idea since it makes everybody profoundly uncomfortable except for Tony.

And then, in one fell swoop, it gets serious.

 

 

"[Y/N], no one's asked you in awhile," Steve muses. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," you say, automatic. There's no reason to think about it at this point. The game might as well just be called Dare, since the fear of Truth seems to have spread throughout the room. Dares are safe.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised, huh? Hmm... kiss someone in this room. Anybody. Ladies' choice."

_Fuck._

You glance around, since you know there has to be a reaction to this. But, to your surprise, all attention is on Steve.

"What?" Steve says, looking mildly embarrassed. "Were we... I mean, wasn't... was this not what we were leading up to?"

Tony laughs. "We were. Just didn't expect it from you, Cap. Anyway, [Y/N], you heard the man. Pick your poison."

"Oh, no," you say. "I know where this is going. I'm not picking favorites. No matter who I do this dare with, all the rest of you will get offended, don't even try to lie about it."

Your friends look at each other. You see something pass between them, all of them. Some of them make tiny nods. It goes from one to the next to the next, the same exact look in everyone's eyes. You know what it means.

"You're all going to get jealous." Flatly. You state it as a fact, because, of course, it is one.

"There is a solution to that," Thor says with a smile that betrays what's coming next. You groan and cover your face again, because the blood is rushing to your cheeks again and as Thor nudges you with his elbow, you're a little terrified, but you're also a little... not.

"Lemme guess," you say. "I kiss all of you."

Thor shrugs. "You said it, milady, not me."

"Alright, people, form a line," you say with a grin that you don't even have to force, and they actually do what you say.

_You know, I used to think having hot people fight over me was the dream, romance-wise. Turns out it's just really fucking awkward and confusing. But I get to kiss them. So... it's a tradeoff, I guess._

 

 

Steve kisses you and wonders why he's never even tried to do this before. You're soft, and your shampoo smells delightful, and his arm around your waist doesn't fit quite right, but it's comfortable enough. For the first time in several decades, Steve's past and present seem to fit side by side without competing with or overshadowing each other.

Bruce kisses you and immediately wishes you were somewhere else - he pictures the serene fluorescence of the lab, the early-morning sunniness of your room, some secluded corner in the streets of the city. Anywhere but here. Everybody's eyes are making this feel wrong. Kisses don't need an audience. But you've got one hand curled up in his collar, pulling him towards you, and he's having an awfully hard time pulling away.

Nat barely gives you a peck. She sees the confusion, the hurt in your eyes, and winks. She whispers so quietly that you have to strain to hear her: "I'm saving mine for later. Hope you don't mind too terribly."

You kiss her on the cheek. "I certainly don't."

Loki kisses you and balls his hands into fists, knowing he's got to have some self-restraint, because it's getting very difficult very quickly. He wants to take you away from here right this second, wants you all to himself as soon as possible for as long as possible. He wants more of  _this_ , since  _this_ involves your fingers laced with his. But he just closes his eyes and pulls the classic movie villain move: Loki bides his time.

Tony smiles. "So we meet again," he says.

He kisses you gently. He's hesitant, but you've got a hand in his hair and you're doing that thing where you put your hand over the reactor, so Tony says his usual  _fuck it_ and goes for it until the shouts of "get a room!" begin.

Clint kisses you and is assaulted with memories of other times you've kissed him, pecks on the cheek with bleeding lips, kitchen kisses with bruised noses. Your nose is still black and blue, of course, but that's not what Clint is focused on. He feels the rhythm of your breath and the gentle movements of your fingers. Given the choice, he couldn't pick among all the kisses you've given him.

Thor kisses you and all the strength goes out of him, it's all he can do to keep you in his arms. Your hands are on his chest. He's never really understood the phrase "butterflies in your stomach" - to be honest, he still doesn't - but he's fairly certain he knows where it comes from now. 

"You are stunning," he whispers before he pulls away entirely.

Bucky kisses you and you both shiver at the same time. He keeps the metal arm well away from you, at least at first, but you place a hand on Bucky's silver shoulder, run it down the length of his arm. He makes a tiny murmur and shifts closer to you. You smile, and Bucky thinks this could take some getting used to.

"Anybody else?" you ask with a broad joker's grin.

They look at you. Some rub the back of their necks. Some touch their lips, still not quite believing that just happened. They are definitely all giving you bedroom eyes at this point, but what are you supposed to do?

Bruce clears his throat. "I believe we were playing Truth or Dare," he says.

 

 

"This is it," says the boy.

"Yes," says the girl. "I am aware."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No. But am I ever sure?" asks the girl.

"Good point," says the boy. "Are we just supposed to ring the doorbell?"

The girl raises her eyebrows, and the boy laughs. "I'll ring the doorbell," he says.

 

 

You check your phone. 1:16 a.m.

"Truth or dare, [Y/N]?" Tony asks.

"No fair, I just did one."

"[Y/N]." His tone isn't warning so much as begging, and you know what your answer needs to be.

"Truth."

Your friends lean closer to you. You're all seated in the ragged circle of before, but they are slowly, slightly closing that distance, as though you are the epicenter of a tiny earthquake of attention. Tony opens his mouth to give you the Truth that you know must seal your fate.

And then, like something out of a bad rom-com or a worse horror movie, the doorbell rings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been far too long. The reason I haven't updated is because I landed a part in the school play (Romeo and Juliet!) and rehearsals are crazy.  
> But anyway. Please let me know what you think of the story! Comments make my day. :D


	22. (Author's Note)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOS

I'm in need of some help.

I'm suffering from some of the worst writer's block I've had in recent memory. I haven't written a single line for almost a week - I just don't know what the hell I'm doing. I would love some ideas, any ideas. Honestly, they don't even have to be for this story! They can be happy, angsty, heart-wrenching, absurd, innocent, sexy, simple, convoluted: I'm in no place to have preferences. I will take anything you folks have.

Just something to get me going again, you know? 

Thanks so much for your patience with me thus far, and, of course, for being such loyal followers of the story. I promise you, together we'll get this shit up and running again - hopefully sooner than later. 


End file.
